


I Need Direction To Perfection (is there room for one more)

by Khashana, read by Khashana (Khashana)



Series: Directionverse [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Anxiety, BDSM, BPD Kent, Bitty doms Kent to get him out of subdrop without having a chance to talk to him about it first, Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Borderline Personality Disorder, Contract Negotiation, D/s, Fic and podfic together, Hockey, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Suicidal Ideation, Mildly Under-Negotiated Kink, Ongoing Relationship Negotiation, Panic Attacks, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 2.5-3 Hours, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Service Submission, Service Top, Splitting, Subdrop, Therapy, Threesome Sandwich, Threesome – M/M/M, Trades, abuse-related trauma symptoms, dom!Bitty, dubious consent to d/s play, exercise as self-harm, meltdowns, offscreen under-negotiated kink, omg pb&j sandwich, past abusive relationship, possibly my magnum opus, rope play, sub!jack, sub!kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/Khashana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/read%20by%20Khashana
Summary: Kent Parson gets traded to the Falconers.He also gets a therapist, a diagnosis, a dominant, and eventually, two boyfriends.





	I Need Direction To Perfection (is there room for one more)

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the excellent [palateens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens) but there was a limit to how much I was capable of asking of them so if you see something weird it's still my fault <3 Thank you!! Please do let me know if you spot SPAG mistakes, I will be grateful!  
> Thanks to everyone in the Parse Posi Posse and the Polya Epifest (for which challenge I did not write this fic but in whose server I did work on it) for turning up to help me get past minor inconveniences in plot, spending hours upon hours word sprinting with me, sharing their vast collective repository of knowledge of things such as how does hockey work, and expressing enthusiasm for the teasers I posted. Thanks to garden-of-succulents in particular for her immensely inspiring [meta](https://archiveofourown.org/series/725256) that birthed half this fic's premise, and to everybody on AO3 who's already written BPD Kent: know that I referred to all of your works repeatedly when writing.
> 
> Completely jossed by 3.23-on.  
> Warning for those who hate Kent: This is a Kent redemption arc. Warning for those who love Kent: It is told through Jack and Bitty’s perspectives. It therefore comes off as Parse-negative to start with and does not gloss over Kent’s behavior toward Jack.
> 
>  
> 
> [Podfic](https://khashanakalashtar.wordpress.com/portfolio/365/)

_When there's nowhere else to run_  
_Is there room for one more son_  
_One more son_  
_If you can hold on_  
_If you can hold on, hold on_  
_I want to stand up, I want to let go_  
_You know, you know - no you don't, you don't_  
_I want to shine on in the hearts of men_  
_I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand_  
_Another head aches, another heart breaks_  
_I am so much older than I can take_  
_And my affection, well it comes and goes_  
_I need direction to perfection, no no no no_  
_Help me out_  
_Yeah, you know you got to help me out_  
_Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner_  
_You know you got to help me out_  
_And when there's nowhere else to run_  
_Is there room for one more son_  
_These changes ain't changing me_  
_The cold-hearted boy I used to be_  
_Yeah, you know you got to help me out_  
_Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner_  
_You know you got to help me out_  
_You're gonna bring yourself down_  
_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down_  
_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down_

~All These Things That I've Done by The Killers, aka the most BPD Kent song ever

 

“Okay, sweetpea, tell me your safewords.” Bitty brushed an affectionate hand through the hair of his husband kneeling before him.

“Green means I’m good. Yellow means slow down. Red means stop that exact thing you’re doing but the scene can continue. Juliet means stop everything, abandon ship.”

“And if you can’t talk?”

Jack gave him a thumbs-up. “Green.” He poked Bitty in the leg. “Yellow.” He double-tapped Bitty’s calf. “Red.” He repeated the motion several times in succession. “Juliet.”

“Good. I’m going to tie your wrists now, okay?”

“Please. In front?” Bitty nodded, smiling softly. Jack proffered his hands, and Bitty looped a length of bondage rope around them with practiced movements.

“I want to use that mouth of yours, sweetpea. Can’t have them in back if you can’t talk. All right. I’m going to put you right where I want you, and you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Jack nodded vigorously, and Bitty peeled his own boxers off. He threaded one hand into Jack’s hair and used it to direct Jack to his inner thigh. Jack licked and sucked and bit wherever Bitty put him, until finally Bitty was aching and Jack’s eyes were glazed over, and Bitty let Jack suck him down.

“Yes,” breathed Bitty, arching his back in pleasure. “That’s so good, Jack, you’re so good.”

Jack hummed happily around his cock, and the vibration made Bitty gasp.

“You’re going to make me come, right, honey? And then I’ll take care of you.” Bitty let Jack pull off to lick at his cock, teasing the head, and even ducking his head to mouth at his ballsack. His hot, heavy breath on Bitty’s inner thighs made his cock strain painfully upward, and thankfully Jack got back to the task, running his tongue over the bottom of it for a moment, and finally began to suck with a purpose.

“There,” gasped Bitty, and Jack pulled off and jerked him with his bound hands. Bitty came with a grunt, cresting the wave of pleasure and marking his boy in streaks of white.

He took a few seconds to recover, then arranged Jack flat on his back on the bed. They had learned from experience that if they set this up on the floor, they were going to be on the floor through recovery, and it was hell on both their spines. He looped the free end of the bondage rope around a bar of the headboard, then fed it back to himself and pinned it under one knee. Jack pulled gently, feeling the sensation of being tied down, and grinned openly.

“I love you like this,” Bitty breathed. “I always love you, but watching you like this, so open and happy, without a care in the world, and _I put you there._ Now. Close your eyes, sweetpea, and keep them closed.” He would have covered Jack’s eyes himself, but his husband was too damn tall for him to comfortably reach both eyes and cock, and Bitty had plans. Jack obediently shut his eyes, and Bitty rested one hand on his chest and the other on his cock. Bitty had thought Jack was relaxed before, but even more tension seemed to seep out of his frame as Bitty jerked him off. His mouth opened a little and he let out a series of small gasps as Bitty worked him to the edge. Bitty licked his lips as Jack tugged at his bound hands, struggling to no avail and clearly cresting higher with every passing second. Finally, his whole body tensed, his face screwed up in ecstasy, and he came hard with an “Oh!” that had Bitty closing his eyes for a moment to savor the image.

He didn’t let Jack wait too long before he undid the rope and grabbed a baby wipe from the bedside table to clean him up. He cuddled down on top of Jack while they both caught their breaths.

“How are Marty’s kids?” asked Bitty eventually. Jack summoned the effort to answer. The more Bitty forced him to make conversation, the more Jack floated back up out of subspace, until Bitty deemed it safe to take a proper nap.

***

_Kent Parson traded to Falconers._

Bitty raised an eyebrow at the headline on his Falconers Google Alert, but swiped it aside in favor of checking his email. It was four in the fucking morning, and Bitty did not have energy to worry about Kent Parson. He had a job to go to.

He was accosted by coworkers only hours later.

“Is it true Kent Parson got traded ‘cause he’s gay?” asked Irving. Milton elbowed him.

“Can’t be, that’s gotta be illegal.”

Bitty glared at the crust dough before answering, in a deceptively light tone, “No, actually, it’s not.”

“Well, it’s hard to prove you fired someone for any given reason, I mean, it’s illegal not to hire people because they’re not white, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” said Milton.

“No,” Bitty corrected, voice dripping with icicles, “it’s literally not illegal. The NHL would have to put it in their Equal Employment Opportunity statement specifically. Otherwise, it’s perfectly legal for them to trade Parson and put ‘because he’s gay’ in the reason for termination line. It’s bad for business, a lot of times, but I can’t imagine the NHL would lose a lot of fans.”

“You and your husband go to all the Falconers’ home games together, right? Does he think it’s true?” asked Irving.

“Whenever possible,” said Bitty dryly. “And I wouldn’t know. I didn’t wake him up at four AM to ask him about Kent Parson’s sexuality before I left the house. Where’s the rumor coming from, anyway? It’s been literally less than twelve hours since the story broke.”

“Dunno,” said Irving. “Something about how he had to have done something they really didn’t expect or like, combined with, how the hell did the Falconers have the cap space, combined with all the rumors about him and Zimmermann back in their juniors days.”

Milton groaned suddenly. “There’s gonna be so much Parson/Zimmermann fanfiction again. My sister was a shipper back then. She’s gonna be _so_ smug.”

All in all, Bitty was expecting some sort of reaction from Jack when he got home, but not _this_.

***

Jack was sitting on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, shaking slightly and staring at the wall. Bitty kicked off his shoes and walked straight over. Jack dropped the pillow and held out his arms in supplication, and Bitty climbed into his lap without hesitating. Jack octopused around him and Bitty rubbed his back soothingly.

“What’s bothering you, sweetpea?”

“Did you see the trade announcement?” Jack asked into his shirt.

“Yes. Are you worried about being on the same team as Parse?” Once upon a time, this would have been obvious to Bitty, but over the years he’d watched enough trades occur, enough sworn enemies become brothers in arms, that he’d sort of assumed Kent and Jack would move past their history without too much drama.

Jack nodded, face still hidden.

“You told me once you had a lot of apologies to give each other. What’s likely to happen if you make them?”

This was a therapy-learned trick for helping Jack keep track of which thoughts were logical and which were entirely anxiety-fueled. Knowing which ones were which didn’t make them go away, but it gave him some measure of control over decision-making. Jack usually didn’t give him the worst case scenario as the answer lately, but forced himself to stop and consider the question. Bitty was expecting something along the lines of “We’ll be awkward and embarrassed” or at worst “I’m not going to be able to get the words out”. Instead, what he got was this:

“He’ll say something hurtful. I’ll shut down.”

“Can you stop and think about that for me, honey?” said Bitty. “Is that really most likely?”

“I know what you’re doing, Bits,” said Jack, a little sharply, “and yes, it is. We were _awful_ for each other. And it’s not even that straightforward.”

Bitty supposed one time out of a hundred, the worst case scenario and the most likely were one and the same. Still.

“What _is_ the worst case scenario?”

It was the wrong question. Jack stiffened and gasped a few times before he got control over his lungs again. “Don’t make me.”

“Honey, I need you to explain what else is--”

“ _Juliet,_ ” interrupted Jack. “Please don’t make me explain it.”

“Okay,” said Bitty, switching seamlessly from ‘it’s for your own good’ to ‘damage control’. “Do you want me to get off?”

“No. Just. This.”

Bitty held him and worried silently.

***

Bitty showing up to practice wasn’t that unusual an occurrence. He swapped recipes with some of the WAGs and even some of the players, and taste tested their creations. He frequently brought by expired baked goods to feed to hockey players who didn’t care if their cookies were a little stale.

Bitty showing up to practice to sit in the stands and laser-focus on one of Jack’s teammates, however, was unprecedented.

He did it anyway.

There was nothing particularly unusual about Parse. He fit into the team about as seamlessly as Bitty would expect for someone at their first practice. He was fast, darting between players and using d-men as shields to score. His playing style was, in fact, a lot like Bitty’s own.

“Little B!” Tater crowed when he spotted Bitty after practice. He lumbered over without taking his gear off. “Do you see, we have Parson now? Make our rat.”

“It’s going to be weird, isn’t it?” said Bitty. “I was enjoying your Twitter rivalry.”

Tater shrugged stoically. “Is life.”

“Do you think he plays like me?”

Tater considered. It had, after all, been a few years since Bitty was a hockey player.

“Yes, I suppose,” he said eventually. “Help that you are both short right wingers.”

“And he’s blond,” said Bitty, choosing to ignore the ‘short’ comment.

“And listens to pop music,” agreed Tater. “Zimmboni has type.”

“Bits is nothing like Parse,” said Jack sharply from where he was apparently listening across the room.

The man in question stuck his head in the door. “Did I hear my name?”

Bitty steeled himself and called up the usual ‘welcome to the team’ script. “Eric Bittle,” he said, crossing and offering a hand to Parse. “Jack’s husband.” If it came out frostier than usual, Parse wouldn’t know.

“Yo,” said Parse, taking it. “You must know me already.” Bitty was ready to hate him until he continued with, “I remember taking a selfie with you at a party.”

“Oh!” said Bitty. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. You must take hundreds of selfies.”

Parse’s face did…something. “Zimms’ friends stand out. Also if you married him there’s no way in hell you didn’t know who I am. Right?” Bitty blinked at him, unsure what to say to that. Tater saved him by pushing past them, skates now dangling from one hand.

“I am taking shower now,” he announced.

“Yeah, we should do that too,” said Parse, waving Jack over, and Bitty let the three of them walk away toward the showers.

***

He brought it up as they cleaned up dinner that night.

“Can I ask why it matters that I’m not like Parse?” he said, not looking at Jack. Jack was silent for a moment, and Bitty chanced a glance at him. He was staring at the wall, brow slightly furrowed in the way that meant he was thinking.

“Parse is manipulative,” he said finally, choosing his words with obvious care. “And cruel. And I made a conscious choice to stop letting him in. It’s…distressing to think that people looking on the outside might think I ended up with another one of him.”

And so you’re afraid to have to work with him, because you’ll have to let him in, Bitty filled in the blank.

***

“Zimmermann, I think we should try Parson on your line,” said Coach to Jack not long after at practice.

“Dumb to have you both and not take advantage of that chemistry,” agreed Thirdy.

Jack’s mouth was dry. “I don’t know if we still have it,” he managed around a thick and uncooperative tongue. “It’s been a long time since Juniors.”

“Still.”

And Jack didn’t know how to say _no_ to his fellow alternates. Didn’t know how to say _that was when we trusted each other_. So he listened with a heavy heart as Marty called out the lines, every word landing on his shoulders like hailstones.

“Snowy in the net. Tater and me, Guy, Zimmboni, and Parser.”

Jack spent the entire practice having a mild anxiety attack. But, to his surprise, it wasn’t an unqualified disaster. He knew where Parse was, knew where to put the puck so Parse would get it, knew when Parse had the puck and was passing it to him. He wanted them to be worse at this, badly, wanted it to be obvious to the rest of the team how badly they fit together, and it felt like the universe was shoving them back into place despite unqualified protest.

He was shaking apart by the time practice ended, and he skipped the showers in favor of grabbing Bitty by the hand—thank _fuck_ he was there—and walking out to the car, having ditched only his skates and his pads. Bitty didn’t need directing for long; he opened the passenger door of Jack’s Element and guided him inside before climbing on top of him. Jack curled into his husband and _sobbed_.

“Oh, Lord, honey,” Bitty said softly, clinging back. “That bad?” He wrapped a hand around the back of Jack’s neck and pressed. “I’ve got you. Let me have it.” Jack cried harder, but the touch was grounding and he trusted Bitty enough to take him at his word and let go.

He didn’t know how long it was before he calmed down enough that Bitty passed him a bottle of water and climbed over the gearshift to the driver’s seat. He started the car without a word to the fact that they’d driven there separately, and as soon as he’d maneuvered out of Jack’s parking space, he reached over with his right hand and clasped Jack’s.

They lived fairly close to the rink, so it wasn’t long before Bitty pulled into the parking garage and led Jack inside and to the shower. They both stripped and stepped inside. Jack wasn’t sure if Bitty felt gross enough for a wash after cuddling him or if he just didn’t want to leave Jack alone, and decided not to ask.

When they were both clean, dry, and dressed in comfortable clothes, Bitty fetched Jack a Gatorade and bundled him to the bed.

“I can’t do this, Bits,” said Jack into Bitty’s shoulder, and explained.

Bitty made understanding noises and said, “I think I know what’s going on here, honey. You know where he is all the time because you’re hypervigilant. It’s a trauma symptom. But hypervigilance isn’t good for you, isn’t anything like knowing where someone is because you’re in sync.”

“How do I fix it,” asked Jack dully.

“Checking clinic?” suggested Bitty, and Jack laughed.

“I don’t even know how bad he’s going to be,” he said. “The anticipation is making it worse, I think. So, I know you were joking, but maybe, if I could interact with him in a more controlled situation, where I have a clear out, exposure therapy could actually be useful.”

“So, yes to checking clinic?” said Bitty. They started to plan.

***

And so it was that the next day, Zimmboni and his husband hosted an impromptu team bonding barbecue. Barbecue, Jack insisted, so the various hockey players that turned up could be put in charge of the main course, and Bitty would have less food to make. (Hockey players had previously been determined to be pretty crap at potlucks. None of them knew how to make anything interesting, according to Bitty.)

The party was in full swing by the time Kent arrived. Poots and Tater were competing in Mario Kart on the sofa, while the vets hung out by the grill and chatted over a beer. Bitty didn’t even notice his blonde perpetual headache show up until Tater wandered over and picked up an armful of sauces and dressings to carry outside.

“Did you and Poots give it up?” asked Bitty casually as he pulled a potato salad out of the fridge.

“Parser wanted a turn,” said Tater. “I’m get tired of losing, so am here to help.”

Bitty whipped around. Their house had an open floorplan, so he could see Parse on the couch with Poots.

“Oh, okay,” he said with forced calm. “Well, thank you, Tater.”

The problem with a team event as checking practice was that there was no particular reason for Kent and Jack to interact, especially one on one. Bitty suspected that Jack wasn’t doing anything to encourage interaction, either, and he couldn’t say he blamed his husband for not seeking out confrontation. Goodness knows he never would have been the one to suggest Jack slam him into the boards repeatedly. So it took until evening for the anticipated altercation to arise.

It started because Jack didn’t keep alcohol in the house. He’d tasked Guy with bringing over some six-packs of Budweiser for the boys, but those were all gone, and apparently Kent was in the mood for something stronger.

“Whatcha say? Wanna move this to somewhere a little more lively?”

“You guys can go wherever you want, of course,” said Jack, “but Bitty and I will be staying here.”

“Aw, c’mon, Zimms—Zimmboni.” Kent’s mouth tripped over the unfamiliar nickname. “You gotta come with or we’ll be abandoning you to go drink, and that’s not…what’s the opposite of hospitality? Or, not the opposite, what is it called being a good guest? Guestpitality?”

“Good manners?” suggested Tater, and Kent shoved him good-naturedly. Most of the guys had gathered round their patch of yard by now, drawn by the magnetic force that was Kent V. Parson on a mission.

“Fuck you, man.” He turned back to Jack. “Whattya say?”

“Answer’s still no, sorry, Parser,” said Jack, and Bitty moved to stand by him as subtly as he could manage. Kent’s eyes seemed to become bluer, and something undefinable changed in his face.

“What’s wrong? You too good to come out with your guys? Afraid of something?”

“That’s enough,” said Thirdy sharply. “Zimmboni has boundaries, and you’ll respect them.”

Kent put up his hands and smiled insincerely. “Chill, I’m just chirping. If Jack can’t handle it…”

“Jack’s not the one still finding his place in the team chemistry,” said Marty, no trace of his usual boisterous grin.

“Okay, okay,” said Kent. “Tell you what, first round’s on me, wherever’s good around here after Zimmboni kicks us out. Hey, hey Fitzy, you never did tell me that story about why you had to buy everyone’s drinks after the Aeros game.”

And the subject was changed, the group dispersed, the tension broke like shatterproof glass. Bitty squeezed Jack’s hand out of sight of the others and fell back into playing the good host.

***

But he didn’t stop keeping an eye on Jack, and he noticed when Kent followed him out onto the screened porch.

“C’mon, man, what is your problem?” Kent was asking when Bitty walked in. “You’ve had an issue with me ever since I got here. You used to love going out for a drink, now just because I suggest it, suddenly there’s Boundaries I’m Crossing?” Bitty could hear the capital letters.

“You don’t know a goddamned thing about me anymore, Parser,” snarled Jack, hackles up.

“ _Fuck_ you, I knew you better than anyone,” said Kent. “Don’t talk to me like I’m nothing.”

“You _are_ nothing, here,” said Jack. “You were a big fucking deal on the Aces, fine, but I will have you traded away again in a minute if you don’t stop acting like you know me as anything other than a teammate.”

“ _Stop it_ ,” said Bitty, and the other two froze. “Parser, stop poking the ants’ nest. It’s been the better part of a decade, and you’re a fool if you think a person doesn’t change. Jack, that was _uncalled for_. You can’t go around telling people to their face that they’re _nothing._ ” Still neither of them said anything, staring at him like deer in the headlights. “Parser, I think you should leave.”

Without a word, Kent turned on his heel and brushed past Bitty and back into the house. Jack folded neatly to the ground and leaned his head against Bitty’s knee.

“Are you okay, honey?” asked Bitty in concern.

“I will be, I think,” said Jack. “Just. This? You were using your dom voice, and, that always settles me. Just for a minute?”

“Of course, sweetpea. But you’re the one doing the explaining if your teammates walk in.” As he said it, Bitty had a better idea. “Can you get up for me, sweetheart? Come in the bedroom? We’ll do it there.” Obediently, Jack stood and walked out. The design of their house was such that he only had to make a left turn off the porch to end up in the master bedroom. Bitty followed and locked the door, then crossed to the bathroom entrance and locked that door too. Let their teammates assume they were having sex. It’d be easier to explain than the truth.

Jack folded back down on the floor next to the bed, and Bitty hopped up on it, threading a hand through Jack’s hair and holding his head on Bitty’s knee. A gust of air escaped Jack, and Bitty smiled despite himself.

***

They sat that way for ten or twenty minutes. Jack always lost track of time when he was down. Time was something left for Bitty to keep track of, same as everything else when they were doing this. He settled into the place deep inside himself and drifted. Every minute adjustment of Bitty’s hand, to pull harder on his hair or press his head down harder, to move to his neck and hold him just tightly enough that Jack’s breathing changed quality, pulled him down further, and a simple, carefree euphoria filled his head.

Eventually, Jack drifted back to the surface, partly on his own and partly as a result of Bitty letting go and moving to pet his hair instead.

“Hey there, sweetpea,” said Bitty, smiling as Jack finally opened his eyes again and looked up at him. He opened his arms and Jack happily climbed up onto the bed and went to them. It wasn’t an intense scene, so they spent about five minutes on aftercare, just sitting there and cuddling while Bitty quizzed Jack about hockey plays. A few of the guys wolf-whistled when they finally emerged, but Bitty just gave them a smug smile, and they settled down quickly enough.

“Where’s Parser?” Jack heard Bitty asking Tater.

“Left,” said Tater. “While ago.”

“But his car’s still here,” said Bitty, sounding confused. Jack joined him by the window, and, sure enough, there was Parse’s car still in his driveway. He checked his phone, but there were no messages.

“Don’t know what tell you, B. He said he got better offer, wiggled eyebrows, and said he see us at practice.”

Later, after the boys had all left, Bitty went to find Jack and bring him to bed. Jack was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at his phone.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” asked Bitty sleepily.

“I keep expecting him to text me,” said Jack, frowning. “That’s what he does after a fight.”

“To apologize or keep it going?”

“Neither. Well, yes to apologize, but never just that. It’s always shit like, ‘You’re right, I know you hate me, you should hate me, I’m a piece of shit, I should just die.’ I hate it. Now I’m the bad guy if I don’t forgive him, I have to tell him it’s okay if I want to make sure he doesn’t fucking kill himself.” He scrubbed at his eyes roughly. “And it’s not okay. I can’t just sweep everything under the rug. I can’t have it be that or wanting him dead. And he’s not even _doing_ it but it’s _still_ stressing me out because I’m expecting it.”

“Maybe he’s in a better place,” Bitty suggested.

“Maybe.” Jack was unconvinced.

“Well, what’s there to do? Would it help if you texted Marty or Thirdy or someone?”

Jack thought about it and shook his head.

“I don’t actually have anything to go on except what he was like ten years ago. He’s probably fine.”

“So let’s go to sleep, honey. Give you both time to cool off.”

Jack sighed and gave in, and he followed Bitty to the bedroom.

***

Bitty woke up at four AM as usual, and went about getting ready. At five he was locking the door and leaving the house, and he ran into Kent Parson sneaking around in his driveway.

“What the fuck?” said Bitty, and

“Why are you awake?” said Kent.

“I have to open a bakery by six. Why are _you_ awake?”

“I just came to get my car.” He held up his keys in demonstration.

“Why did you leave it here in the first place?”

“Caught a ride with someone else.”

“Who?” Bitty hadn’t noticed anyone else leaving early.

“Someone,” said Parse, moving around to the driver’s side and not looking at Bitty. “Hey, tell Zimms I’m sorry about last night? And I’ll keep out of the way and not bother you again.” He climbed into the car without waiting for an answer and drove off, leaving Bitty standing in his driveway running late.

***

Jack woke up with no texts or missed calls telling him Kent had done something stupid, so he went to practice with minimal panic.

Kent seemed okay in person, if subdued and avoiding the fuck out of him. That was fine by Jack, who ignored him right back and fed the coaches a story he’d worked out about how he really thought there was potential in putting Parser with Keds and Salty, which got Kent off his line for the time being.

Bitty just sighed at him when he got home and reported this.

“What?” asked Jack defensively. “At least we’re not yelling at each other.”

“You know that’s not sustainable,” Bitty told him. “You’re on the same team. You have to be able to work together, at least on the ice.”

“What am I supposed to do, exactly?” asked Jack. “Ask him why he didn’t apologize and tell me he wanted to die?”

“Oh!” said Bitty, remembering. “He did, actually. To me. That was so many hours ago, it feels like a different day. He was here when I got up, taking his car back, and he told me to tell you he’s sorry and that he’d keep out of the way and not bother us.”

“Well, he seems to be doing that last part okay,” said Jack. “Maybe he is in a better place. That’s a lot less manipulative than what I was expecting. Only a little fishing.”

“What?” frowned Bitty.

“Fishing. For comfort. Like fishing for compliments? Saying he won’t bother us anymore is fishing for you to tell him he’s not a bother. But he can’t have actually expected you to say that, considering how much of a bother he made himself.”

“Hmm,” said Bitty. “Well, it isn’t perfect. And he should have apologized to you in person, not sent it through me. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t want to talk to him for even that. Dumb boy. How are you supposed to play hockey if he doesn’t talk to you at all?”

“A lot better than what I expected, though,” Jack finished the thought. “Now what?”

“Apologize for telling him he’s nothing, maybe?” said Bitty, sounding a little exasperated. “You were both in the wrong on that one.”

***

Jack spent most of the next three days psyching himself up to apologize. He kept going around in circles. One side of his brain said _Bitty’s right, that’s too far,_ and the other side said _it’s nothing on what he’s said to you, you’re the injured party here._ Bitty’s side finally won out on the basis that Kent had actually apologized, even if he could have done it better, and because every day Bitty asked him whether he and Kent were talking yet.

So he pulled Kent aside in the locker room after practice and simply said, “I’m sorry I said you were nothing. It wasn’t true,” and made to walk away again before he could tack on something that ruined it.

“Why did your husband slip me cookies?” asked Kent.

“Sorry?” said Jack.

“Cookies. In my gear bag. Yesterday.” He pulled out a gallon bag half full of chocolate chip cookies. A post-it stuck to the front read, ‘Enjoy! –ERB’. Jack swallowed down a small surge of jealousy. It wasn’t as though he was the only one Bitty had ever snuck cookies to. Tater had received a stream of baked goods while he was recovering from a broken leg after Jack’s first season. Fitzy had discovered a freshly baked apple pie in his locker for his first game after his mother died. Jack reminded himself that he was not the kind of shitty husband who put restrictions on his husband’s friends.

“He does that all the time,” Jack said neutrally.

“Must be worried about you, Parser,” said Fitzy from the next locker over. “He doesn’t usually hide them if he’s just sharing the wealth.”

Kent looked accusingly at Jack. Jack just walked away.

“Kent asked me why you gave him cookies,” he told Bitty at home.

“How long has he been on this team?” asked Bitty, too casually.

“That’s what I told him,” said Jack, and recounted the interaction.

“Well, he isn’t wrong,” said Bitty, and changed the subject.

The next day, he said, “Hey, Parse,” the same as he said “Hey, Tater. Choo-choo.” when he came across his second-line D-men.

“Hey,” said Parse cautiously.

The next practice it was, “Hey Parse, can you run drills with Snowy?” while Marty and Thirdy were working on something with the other D-men and he himself was practicing passes with Banger.

Parse always spoke when spoken to, and a week or so later he was initiating greetings, though he was still subdued and didn’t joke with Jack the way he did with the others anymore. Slowly, Jack started to relax.

About that, anyway. It was, after all, the end of September.

***

“Parse!” Bitty called out. “Have you tried a snickerdoodle yet? There’s never very many, you have to get them right away.”

Kent wandered over to the little table by the wall and shot him a look as he picked up a snickerdoodle.

“Why are you being nice to me?” he said suspiciously. Bitty shrugged.

“I like to reach out to players. Make sure they know they’re welcome. Valued.” Kent narrowed his eyes and bit into his snickerdoodle. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a loud moan. Bitty chuckled. “Glad you approve of my baking.”

“You made these?” Parse said through the rest of the cookie he was shoving in his mouth.

“I’m the head baker,” Bitty reminded him. “I take home everything we don’t sell and feed it to y’all. Or sometimes I make a trip out to the homeless shelter when there’s enough to be worth it.”

Kent swallowed his cookie and stared at Bitty for a moment. Bitty stared back.

“What are you _doing_?” Kent asked finally. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m not allowed to be friendly?”

“You’re _Jack’s,_ ” said Kent, as though that explained everything. And maybe it did, thought Bitty.

“So?” he said instead, moving to stand in front of Parse.

“So Jack must’ve told you about me.”

“What about you?”

“That he hates me!” Kent burst out, then turned away, biting his lip. Bitty got the strong impression he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Jack doesn’t hate you,” said Bitty confidently, stepping closer. “He…doesn’t like how you treat him.” More diplomatic, he thought wryly, than ‘he’s traumatized’. “But that doesn’t equal hate. You can improve your relationship.”

“I’ve fucking tried,” said Kent. “I always end up saying some shit I don’t mean. You were there when he turned down the Aces. I remember. You heard what I said. And I just wanted to hurt him.”

“So do better next time.”

“The fuck do you mean, do better?” said Kent, glaring at him before apparently remembering he wasn’t making eye contact. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that _easy_ ,” Bitty corrected. “It’s absolutely that _simple._ Hey, look at me.” He reached out without thinking and threaded a hand through Kent’s cowlicks, forcibly turning Kent to look at him. Kent’s eyes widened. “You used to be his best friend. I know you have it in you to be someone he can be friendly with again.”

“I’m poison,” said Kent softly. His face was more open than Bitty had ever seen it, and it made his heart ache.

”The very fact you can say that means you can stop,” said Bitty. “But you don’t need to be a fundamentally different person who’s somehow morally superior. What you need is therapy.”

Kent scoffed, and dropped his eyes back to the floor, but Bitty tightened his grip, and Kent’s head snapped back up to meet his eyes once more. Suddenly, Bitty became aware that it was _weird_ , standing here with his hand on someone else’s head, essentially backing that person against a wall, and he let his hand drop.

“You think I could be, not bad for him? If I was in therapy?” asked Kent quietly.

“It’ll be hard,” said Bitty. “It might take a long time. It’s not magic. But isn’t Jack worth it to try?”

“Jeff’s been lowkey on me about it for years,*” Kent admitted, tilting his head back against the wall. “How the _fuck_ am I supposed to trust a complete stranger like that?” And he sounded sad instead of defiant.

“Let me ask Jack’s therapist for a recommendation,” suggested Bitty. “He’s been going to her for years, and she’s never gone to the press.”

It seemed that Kent’s nod was wrung from him like water from a washcloth.

***

Preseason was drawing to a close. Jack was gruff and withdrawn a lot of the time, and got snappish when his players were being idiots. This indirectly led to Bitty finding Kent sobbing inside an equipment room.

“Fuck off,” Kent started to say, scrubbing ineffectually at his face, and stopped when he realized who was poking his head through the door. “Oh, it’s you. Your fucking husband is the fucking worst, you know that?”

“What’d he do?” asked Bitty, biting down on the automatic impulse to defend Jack. Deciding this conversation was better had in private, he stepped all the way into the room and shut the door.

“He _hates_ me,” said Kent, breaking down into a fresh wave of tears. “He probably thinks I should go walk out in front of a truck.” Bitty blinked several times, walked over, put his hands on Kent’s shoulders, and repeated,

“What did he _do_?”

“Yelled at me for trying to follow him into the GM’s office. Shut the door in my face. He probably told the coaches to put me on second line. I need to go run, but I can’t _breathe_ for more than a minute.” More sobbing. Bitty raised his eyebrows at the non sequitur.

“What does going running have to do with Jack?” Kent only shook his head and cried. “All right, well. You know Jack. He’s a grumpy bastard around the end of pre-season. You probably caught him at a bad moment. What exactly did he say?”

“Not _now_ , Parse,” Kent repeated. “Go _away_.”

“See,” said Bitty, “that sounds like Jack being Jack. That doesn’t sound like Jack hating you.”

“He does, the whole team does, maybe I should just stay here and never bother anyone again. How long does it take to starve to death?”

“That’s not true, don’t talk like that,” said Bitty helplessly.

“I hate him,” Kent said wildly. “I hate him, I hate him.” He wrapped his hands tightly around Bitty’s wrists, and Bitty could feel him trembling.

“Okay,” said Bitty, making a decision, “here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to sit down on that bench over there, and you’re going to put your head in my lap and be quiet, and I’ll talk to you for fifteen minutes. Then you’re going to drink a glass of water and wash your face, and then I’ll go running with you.” He bit his lip, praying that his gamble would work. There was a chance he was doing exactly the wrong thing and was going to cause even more of a meltdown. But really, how much more of a meltdown could they have?

Kent looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Bitty nodded firmly. “Really.”

He got Kent curled up on his side on the bench, texted Jack one-handed to say he got held up at the rink with a minor emergency, he was fine, and could Jack please bring him some running clothes and leave them?

 _Uh. Okay,_ texted Jack.

_I’ll explain everything later honey! Love you! <3<3_

It was a good thing Bitty was a born babbler and could fill a nervous silence with the best of them. He rested one hand on Kent’s shoulder and carded the other through his hair and explained the Great Phelps-Bittle Jam War. Little by little, he felt the tension slip out of Kent.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and found that their fifteen minutes had elapsed.

“Okay,” he said firmly, “glass of water and washing up. I’ll be getting changed.”

“Changed?” said Kent, sitting up.

“Honey, if you think I’m running in the clothes I wear to work, you are sorely mistaken. These shoes are made to protect my feet from hot water and keep me from slipping in any puddles, not for arch support.” Bitty stood up, and Kent followed.

“Do you just keep a change of running clothes at the rink?”

“I called in a favor while you were all curled up,” said Bitty, thinking it was probably counterproductive to mention Jack just when he’d gotten Kent to calm down.

He found his athletic shoes and a change of clothes sitting on a bench in the locker room. Kent came in while he was tying his shoes and leaned against the doorjamb, staring at the floor with his hands jammed in his pockets.

“You don’t actually have to come with me. I’m okay.”

“I’m glad,” Bitty told him. “But I made you a promise, Mr. Parson, so you’re going to have to actually tell me if you’d rather I didn’t come with.”

Kent did not, and they left. After a few minutes, Bitty spoke.

“I don’t know if you did anything with the referral I sent you for a therapist, but you have got to talk to somebody about this.”

“I started seeing someone,” Kent admitted.

“Good. Promise me you’ll tell her about today.” Kent nodded. “Words, Mr. Parson.”

“Yeah. I promise.”

“Good,” Bitty said again.

Kent turned out to be a sprinter, not a marathon runner, which made perfect sense with his being a hockey player and suited Bitty fine. So they were back at the rink within the hour, sweaty and panting.

“Thanks,” said Kent awkwardly.

“You’re welcome,” Bitty told him. By the time he got out of the shower, Parse was gone again.

He ended up changing his mind and telling Jack it was somebody else’s story and he didn’t feel comfortable explaining it after all.

***

Preseason ended without further incident. Bitty made a point to check in with Parse, make a few minutes of small talk whenever he was at the rink. Jack graduated to polite friendliness with him in the locker room.

And then one day Kent got off the ice, walked over to Bitty in the stands on the blades of his skates, and said, without introduction, “I got a diagnosis.”

Bitty bit back a passive-aggressive ‘And hello to you too, I’m fine, thank you,’ and scooted over a seat so Parse could plop down next to him, pulling off his bucket.

“And?”

“Borderline personality disorder,” said Kent in a low voice, suddenly examining his hands.

“Okay. I’m glad we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“She wants to refer me to a specialist in dialectical behavior therapy.” Kent said the words slowly, as though unsure he was remembering them right.

“Okay. I’m as new to this as you are, so I’m gonna have to do some googling if you want a lengthier response than that.”

“Don’t!” yelped Kent, almost dropping his bucket. “I did, after I got home from the appointment, and it’s _awful_ , Eric. Basically everything says I’m an abuser, and all the resources are on how to deal _with_ me, not _for_ me on how to deal with _it._ ”

“But there’s treatment for it, right?”

“Yeah. DBT. It was developed by somebody who actually has the disorder, or had, I dunno, and it has good results, at least that’s what she said.”

“Okay. So it sounds like you don’t have to resign yourself to being those horrible things on the internet, right? You can get better.”

“Yeah,” said Kent. “Yeah.” And then, suddenly and sincerely, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Bitty, suddenly feeling awkward.

***

He did some research on Borderline Personality Disorder when he got home. Mindful of Kent’s warning, he slogged through the initial vitriolic results, some of which were from actual doctors, before he found some useful information.

He texted Kent. _Are you okay with me sharing this with Jack?_

_Yeah. I kinda assumed you already were._

_It’s personal health information. I wouldn’t._

_Yeah it’s ok_

“You and Kent doing better?” he asked Jack.

“Kind of. Not having to work directly with him helps, but I don’t know how long that can last. The longer nothing happens, the less tense I am, but I’m definitely still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Bitty nodded. “He’s seeing a therapist now, you know. I asked Thérèse for a recommendation.”

“You did?”

“He’s got Borderline Personality Disorder. Basically, he feels so much, and has so little ability to regulate it, that his emotions swing all over the place, he gets hurt really easily, and the manipulation comes from him trying to make himself feel better.”

Jack frowned at him. “That better not mean I just have to accept it because he can’t help it or something.”

“No, no,” Bitty assured him. “It just means that now we all understand why he does what he does, his therapist can teach him how to handle things better, and we can keep in mind what his triggers are when we interact with him to make it easier from our end. Like rejection. That day I made you bring running clothes to the rink?”

Jack nodded, looking interested. “And then wouldn’t tell me why?”

“Well, he hadn’t said I could. I have permission now. You told him to go away that day, and he spiraled. And I think that could all have been avoided if you’d phrased it a little more gently and reminded him you weren’t mad at him, or didn’t hate him, especially if he knew how to calm himself down effectively. I think all he knows how to do is go running until he’s exhausted. I’m not trying to tell you any of it’s your fault, honey. I’m just saying if we can meet halfway, nobody has to end up crying on my shoulder.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t look happy. “I’ll be honest, Bits. It still kind of feels like you’re putting the onus on me to make him feel better. It took me long enough to accept that him abusing me _wasn’t_ my fault.”

“Ohhh,” breathed Bitty. “You never called it that before.”

“Abuse? Yeah. Shitty calls it toxic masculinity. Makes it harder for guys to admit it happened to them. But that’s what it was. And maybe he was hurting, too, but I can’t let myself slide back into that mindset of having to make everything be okay again. Of giving him another chance, over and over.” Jack paced the room, not looking at Bitty.

“Can I hug you?” asked Bitty softly.

“Not right now.”

“Okay. We’re between a rock and a hard place here, aren’t we.” Bitty jammed his hands into his pockets for something to do with them. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you feel like you’re going back to that place, hon. We’ll figure something out. Come get me when you’re ready for that hug?”

It only took Jack about half an hour to come snuggling up to Bitty, reading on their bed. Bitty abandoned his book at once and wrapped his arms tightly around his husband. They said nothing.

***

Bitty showed up the next day at the tail end of practice to leave some baked goods. Fix-it was telling a story to raucous laughter.

“Man, I’d’a whooped your ass for that!” Parse guffawed, slapping the bench.

“Oh, yeah?” said Salty, shoving him in the shoulder. “You into that, Parser?” The other guys hooted.

“Please, I own all your asses,” laughed Kent. But it was Bitty’s loud “Ha!” that caught everyone’s attention.

“B know something we don’t know?” asked Tater, grinning. Bitty had by now several years’ practice of the team’s chirping, and he only grinned and winked at them. More laughter. The moment the conversation moved on, though, Kent got up and walked over to where Bitty was laying out expired mint brownies.

“What was that about?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I can’t find the joke funny?”

“But why?” Kent insisted. Bitty sighed and lowered his voice. He didn’t know what he knew until that moment, but as the words came out of his mouth, he found they were true.

“Like you’d get off whoopin’ somebody’s ass. I know a sub when he curls up in my lap.”

Kent apparently choked on his own spit, because he started coughing.

“How the fuck would you know that, Bittle?”

“Because I’m a fucking _dom_ , sweetheart,” Bitty murmured back. Kent sputtered. Then his eyes grew hard.

“Like to push Zimms around, do you? Think that makes you better at fucking him than me? Because you may be good in bed, _sweetheart,_ but you’ll always be the one he settled for. A younger, Southern hick version of me. Parson Lite.”

“Stop.” Bitty’s voice was steely. Jack’s voice rang in his ears. _It’s distressing to think that people looking on the outside might think I ended up with another one of him._ “You and I both, and Jack too for that matter, know that isn’t true. So stop.”

“Fuck you,” spit Kent, and stalked off.

***

Jack knew he had only so long before the coaches would put Kent back on his line, at least in practice, and he was at something of a loss. Should he invite Kent and maybe some friends over to play Mario Kart, give ‘checking practice’ another go? Tell the coaches some semblance of the truth and see if he could get him permanently stuck on another line, or even traded? He wasn’t a hundred percent clear even on how the Falcs had gotten him in the first place. Where on earth had they gotten the cap space to hold two of the best players in the league? And he _had_ to have a no-trade clause with the Aces, after having been with them for so long. Why had it been nullified?

He saw Kent approach Bitty by the food. He was too far away to hear their words, but he paid attention to their body language. Kent was curious, then confrontational. Bitty was a rod of unforgiving steel. Finally, Kent stormed out the door. Jack meandered over to Bitty, trying not to look as though he was rushing to his husband’s side.

“What was he up to?” he asked.

Bitty shrugged. “Tried to pick a fight. I shut him down.”

“How?” asked Jack in bewilderment. Bitty cocked his head curiously.

“What do you mean, how? I told him that what he was sayin’ wasn’t true, and that we all knew it, and to stop, and he swore at me and left. Which I generally take to mean I won the argument.”

“I always end up in a shouting match,” Jack pointed out. Bitty blinked.

“Well. I dunno. Maybe I’m better at arguin’ than you. Maybe therapy’s doin’ him some good.”

Maybe it was, thought Jack. Maybe—just maybe—Bitty was right and Kent could meet him partway.

He texted Kent that night and was glad for the rest of his life that he did.

_Bitty says you got a diagnosis._

The response, though, was entirely unrelated and very alarming.

_Hi. Uh, I don’t know how to explain this, but I’m kind of worried about the guy whose phone this is._

Adrenaline flooded Jack’s body.

 _Call me,_ he sent back, with his phone number. It rang a few seconds later with an unknown number. He answered it.

“Who is this?”

“Hi, uhhh, I’m Jason? And I just found this guy sitting on the floor in the bathroom, just sort of staring into space? He’s _responsive,_ so I don’t wanna call 911, but it’s like someone set him on slo-mo. And his pants are undone.”

In the background, Jack could hear Kent slur, “I wasn’t _raped,_ man, _chill._ ” The words were said slowly and with effort, but they made a little of the panic subside.

“Can you put me on speaker?”

Jason didn’t answer, but the sound quality of the call changed.

“Kent?”

“Mm.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Sex. I dunno why. It was good. Then he left. And it wasn’t.”

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” said Jack. “You’re in drop?”

Kent made a confused noise.

“Okay. I’ll be right there,” said Jack, standing and walking into the bedroom to shake Bitty awake. “Jason. Where are you?”

“Town. Off Everett St.” Jack knew it vaguely. There were only so many gay bars in Providence and Bitty had been to all of them.

“Right. That’s like twenty minutes away. Can you stay with him until I can get there?”

“Uh, yeah, okay, man. Anything I should do?”

“Hold him, if he’ll let you.” Jack hung up on Jason’s startled squawk and shoved his phone in his pants pocket. Bitty was sitting up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“What’s up, sweetpea?”

“Kent’s out at Town, the bar, and I think he’s in drop. Some guy found him on the floor in the bathroom and called me.”

Bitty jumped out of bed and looked around wildly. “Oh, my lord. Bless that twitterpated boy’s heart. D’you think I should bring cuffs or something?”

“Uh. I think that might not go over well in public.”

“True. I’ll just pack a bandanna in case we need a lil something extra.” He opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed two. He went to shove them in his own pockets, realized he didn’t have any, and shoved them in Jack’s pockets instead. Jack grabbed his keys, and they headed out the door.

“How did this boy even know to call you?” asked Bitty between directions.

“I texted Kent, and I guess I popped up on his phone, so the guy texted back.”

Bitty made an understanding noise. “I bet Kent has that iPhone feature where you can reply to a text without unlocking the phone. Did you know Kent was a sub, then? _He_ didn’t seem to when we were talking earlier today.”

Jack choked on air. “Uh. No. He said the sex was good but then the guy left and it wasn’t good. I extrapolated. I wasn’t even really thinking about whether it was subdrop or domdrop or just, like, it’s probably possible to drop after vanilla sex if the hormones are running too strong, right?”

“If you were having sex for a couple hours straight, I could see that,” said Bitty.

“But he is a sub? He told you that?”

Bitty laughed a little. “No, hon, I told him that. I’ll bet you anything he went out tonight to try it and ended up with some wannabe dom who doesn’t know about aftercare.”

“Why in the name of all that is good in the world did you tell Kent Parson he would enjoy being submissive in bed,” asked Jack flatly.

“I don’t even remember. Oh, yes I do, some stupid comment he made. He noticed me react to it and stormed over for an explanation. Turn here.”

They found a parking space with some small difficulty and beelined for the bar.

Jason turned out to be a small, weedy guy with glasses sitting on the floor of the men’s bathroom with his arm awkwardly around the shoulders of a sprawled out Kent Parson.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you Jack?”

“Yes,” said Jack, and stopped some feet away, suddenly unsure what to do. This was why he had Bitty.

Bitty dropped down on Kent’s other side, a couple of inches away, and threaded a hand into his hair to tilt him over. Kent fell easily into his lap and made a small surprised noise.

“Could you get us a glass of water?” he said to Jason, who got up immediately.

Kent stared blearily at Jack. “What,” he said flatly.

“Hi, honey,” said Bitty briskly. “I’m gonna make some guesses here, you tell me if I’m wrong, mmkay?”

Kent made a noise of assent.

“All right. After our little talk earlier, you decided to go pick up a dom and see if I was right. And you did, and you subbed for him, and the sex was good. Am I doing all right so far?”

“Mm-hm.”

“He probably took you right against this wall. And you sat down for a minute to catch your breath, and he left without cuddling you or making sure you were okay.”

Kent gave him the most baffled look he could manage without actually turning his head.

“And now you feel like all your limbs are made of lead and it’s a struggle even to talk and you feel generally like shit.”

“Yeah,” whispered Kent.

“All right, honey. I’m going to take you down again, real lightly, just enough to re-center you, okay? You tap out if anything doesn’t feel good.”

“Kay.”

“Here, Bits?” asked Jack, quietly.

“Do you want to try muscling this hockey player out to the car as deadweight?” snapped Bitty. “Get security called on us because he looks like he’s been roofied? Let me do some damage control and then we can talk next steps. You _haven’t_ been roofied, right, honey?” This last to Kent, who whispered, “No,” to Bitty’s obvious relief.

Jason came back with a glass of water. Jack took it when Bitty paid him no attention.

“You can go,” Jack told him while Bitty whispered to Kent. “We’ve got this.”

“Uh. Okay,” said Jason. He started to leave, then turned back. “Uh. Would you mind texting me, later? Just let me know he’s all right?”

“Sure,” said Jack. Jason nodded and left. Jack turned back to Bitty, who had Kent’s wrists in one hand.

“Can you hand me a bandanna, honey?”

Jack handed him one wordlessly. Bitty looped it expertly around Kent’s wrists and tied it.

“Okay,” he said, “How about eyes?” He slipped a hand over Kent’s closed eyes. Kent seemed to go even more boneless, but Jack wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining it until Bitty smiled with satisfaction and beckoned for the other bandanna. Jack passed it over, and Bitty folded it over a few times one-handed, tucked one end under Kent’s cheek, and draped the other loosely over Kent’s face. “You’re doing real good for me, honey,” he murmured. Kent’s face broke out into a loose grin. Bitty threaded his fingers through Kent’s hair and pulled, first softly, then harder.

“Lord, you’re easy,” he said quietly. “Even easier than Jack. Are you always like this, honey? Or is it just that you were half down already?” Jack recognized the question as rhetorical, but Kent made an attempt at shrugging.

Jack wondered vaguely if he should be jealous. His dom was putting another sub down, right in front of him, and saying that he was even easier for it than Jack. _Not should,_ the voice in his head that was his therapist said, _should is not a helpful word. Rephrase?_ All right. Would it be reasonable to be jealous? _No,_ was his immediate thought. Bitty wouldn’t abandon him for Kent. What about less than abandonment, though? What would he feel if Bitty liked Kent? Kent, his abusive ex? That got more of a reaction. Bitty was supposed to be on _his_ side. _Supposed to isn’t helpful either,_ said his therapist. But there Jack got stuck, because he couldn’t figure out a way to reword that. _Supposed to_ in hockey could usually become _protocol dictates,_ and in relation to anxiety, _expected by society to_. And he didn’t think he meant Bitty was expected by society to be on his side instead of Kent’s, did he? That would mean he didn’t really have a right to think that at all. And he did, right? It was reasonable to expect his intimate partner to side with him against his abuser.

“When you say ‘side with,’” said Thérèse, when he brought it up the next day, “what do you mean? What issue are you and Kent on opposite sides of right now?”

“Whether or not he deserves kindness?” tried Jack. “Or sympathy? He tries to hurt me, and that’s not okay.”

“Okay, there’re some things to unpack there. You’ve talked about how he apologizes afterwards. Do you think he disagrees with you that it’s not okay?”

“The apologies themselves are manipulative,” said Jack. “You were the one who told me that.”

“Yes. But what are they manipulative _for_?” she said. “Some abusers are very aware of what they’re doing, and consciously enact a pattern of drawing their victim away from their support network, isolating them, and then breaking them down for the pleasure of it. It’s a sort of sadism. People with BPD, on the other hand, are usually trying to get all of your attention for themselves, because when it isn’t on them, they can’t process that you’ll be back, that they won’t be alone forever. Think of it as being pulled underwater. The first kind of abusers are sirens. You’re familiar with Greek mythology?” Jack nodded. “They’re trying to lure sailors into jumping overboard. Someone with BPD, though, is drowning. Think of trying to lower a cat into a bath. It will panic and claw at you to get away. The Borderline person is so terrified of drowning that they’re scratching you up as you try to rescue them, and making it very hard for you not to overbalance too. Either one is a serious problem that can end with you drowning. But the motivation is very different.”

“Bitty said Kent can learn how to handle things better from his own therapy,” said Jack reluctantly.

“That’s true,” said Thérèse. “DBT can be very effective. Ordinarily, I would encourage you to focus on your own mental health, regardless of Kent’s motivations or ability to recover. But now that you can’t avoid him, things are a little trickier. When we started this relationship, your goals in relation to Kent were to recover from the damage he caused you and minimize his ability to cause more, which mostly entailed avoiding him. What are your goals now?”

Jack thought about it for a moment. “Can I get back to you on that?”

“Sure,” she said. “What happened after Bitty put him down?”

“He brought him back up again, made him drink the water, and we took him home to make sure he got enough aftercare. He fell asleep in Bitty’s lap on our couch, and when we got up in the morning he was gone.”

“And you haven’t heard from him since?”

“Nope.”

***

The next day was, as usual, practice, and Kent showed up along with the rest. He avoided eye contact with Jack, and it was such a relief not to have to worry about him.

 _Not interacting with him isn’t a viable long-term solution,_ he reminded himself. _What else can we take away from this?_

It was a hard question, and not one he was going to be able to think about while also trying to play hockey. First, he thought wryly, he should maybe try to answer the question about goals Thérèse had asked him. Or maybe even reword ‘supposed to be on my side’ like he had been trying to do for the last two days.

He came home from practice with the right wording for the last on his lips. But Jack had been in therapy for a while, and he’d learned a thing or two, so instead of saying the words to Bitty, he kissed his husband, said, “I’m gonna go in the bedroom? I need to work through a thought,” and did.

Señor Bun was hanging out on the bed. Jack dropped down beside him and stared at the stuffed rabbit.

“How can you care about him when he hurt me so badly?” he said quietly. The words released, he was able to come up with responses.

_Because he’s a person. Both of them are people. And people are complicated. Kent isn’t a scion of evil and Bitty isn’t some sort of robot programmed to be completely attuned to you at the exclusion of everyone you don’t like._

_Because Bitty could no more leave a sub to drop than you could._

_Because_ you _care about him enough to have gone to rescue him._

That last one brought him up short, and the jealousy drained away. He couldn’t’ve left a sub in drop, and he couldn’t’ve left a teammate in trouble, regardless of the fact it was Kent. It was selfish and idiotic to think less of Bitty for backing him up on it.

_What if Bitty truly cares for him, though? The way he made it sound when he had Kent down?_

_Then we’ll deal with that when we get to it._

He went back into the kitchen and, upon laying eyes on his husband, was overcome by a surge of affection.

“Hey,” he rumbled in Bitty’s ear, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “I love you.”

“Hi,” laughed Bitty. “I love you too, sweetheart.” He rotated to face Jack, beaming. Jack kissed him, trying to pour the depth of his affection into it. Bitty groped behind himself blindly and turned off the stove burner. Jack started giggling, which broke the kiss.

“You can finish what you were doing, I didn’t mean to distract you _that_ badly,” he chirped, taking a step back.

“Suuuuure,” drawled Bitty, but he turned the stove back on and went back to stirring the pot. “Was Kent at practice today?” he asked after a minute.

“Yeah. He seems okay. Avoiding me again.”

“Which you don’t exactly hate,” said Bitty, reading his mind. Jack laughed.

“You’re right about it not being sustainable, though.”

“I think you may have to be the one to start the conversation if you want him to cut it out,” said Bitty carefully. “Not that you have to. I’m just sayin’, I don’t think he’s likely to talk to you on his own.”

“Mm. I think you’re probably right. Have you tried texting him?”

Bitty shook his head, poking at a lump in the pot instead of looking at Jack. “I’m irritated with him, and part of me wants him to wallow for a bit. That’s probably mean of me, but there it is.” He was quiet for a moment, then burst out, “Fuck, no, that’s definitely mean of me, I’ve done this research.” He paused and tasted the stew. “I want him to ask forgiveness before I give it to him,” he said after a moment. “But from the readin’ I’ve done, I think he’s more likely to sit and blame himself forever than ask for it. So I don’t know what to do.”

Jack nodded in understanding. “It’s the same thing as I’ve been saying. You don’t want him to be in agony, but you need him to know it’s not okay.”

Bitty looked at him, startled. “You know, that’s exactly it,” he said. “So if I can just say that…” He handed Jack the spoon and picked up his phone. Jack took over stirring while he typed. “How’s that?” he asked, showing Jack.

_Hey, honey. I’m not mad at you, and we can still be friends, but I need you to know the way you spoke to me a couple days ago wasn’t okay._

“You know you’re probably gonna get the self-flagellating shit if you send that,” Jack pointed out.

Bitty pursed his lips. “True.” He typed a moment longer, then gave it back to Jack. He’d added, _You might want to talk to your therapist about it first, but if you can give me a real apology, without a guilt spiral, then I’m ready to forgive you._

Jack nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

 

Bitty didn’t expect Kent to text back immediately, but when it had been a few days with no answer, he wasn’t sure whether to be worried or annoyed. He sent a single _Kent?_ on the third day. Then Jack came home with news.

“He just came up to me and blurted out, ‘I haven’t been able to see Robin yet. Tell Eric I haven’t been able to see Robin.’ Is that his therapist? I don’t know a Robin.”

“Probably,” said Bitty. He shook his head in amazement. “Am I to believe that boy thinks he can’t text me back so much as an acknowledgement until he talks to his therapist?”

“He doesn’t really have a ‘casual’ setting,” said Jack.

“ _Lord,_ ” sighed Bitty. “Well, I’m choosing to look at the bright side, and say at least he’s taking my advice. That probably means he wants to do it right.”

***

Kent finally texted back two days later.

_Will you come to the rink tomorrow? Or can I come over?_

_I’ll come to the rink,_ Bitty sent back.

***

Kent had _note cards._ Oh, _Lord._ Bitty spared a moment to commit to memory the sight of a sweaty hockey player perched on the bleachers, still wearing most of his gear and concentrating on a stack of 3x5 cards like any high schooler giving a class presentation.

“I’m sorry for saying Jack was dating you because he couldn’t have me. This was wrong because I was lashing out at you for making me feel wrong-footed. In the future I will try harder to keep from lashing out, but Robin says it’s going to take a lot of work because it’s been a coping mechanism for so long, so I apologize in advance if I fuck it up again. Will you forgive me?”

_This boy._

“I forgive you, sweetheart,” said Bitty gently. “And I can tell you worked hard on that apology, so thank you.”

Kent gave the floor a small smile. “I did,” he said quietly. “Robin helped.” And then, looking up at Bitty, “I feel like I should apologize for making you take care of me. But I didn’t actually call you to come fix me? That other guy did. Even though I’m really glad you did come. So I’m not actually sure what I’m apologizing for. And I ran out of time with Robin working on this other one. So I thought I’d ask you if you wanted one for that.”

Bitty was taken aback. “I don’t think you owe me an apology for that, hon,” he said finally. “You did a pretty impulsive thing, and maybe you need to work on that for your own sake, but you didn’t purposely get yourself in trouble so I’d have to help you. And as long as you’re trying to get better, and not using me as a crutch so you can keep doing impulsive things, I don’t mind helping you out when you need it.”

“Thank you,” said Kent, very softly, and Lord, this boy was cute enough to kiss.

Bitty pushed the thought away and chirped, “Now go get showered so I can give you a hug without ruinin’ my outfit.”

***

Now that they were talking again, Bitty emailed him a bunch of links on safe BDSM, and Kent tentatively began to ask questions.

_Everything I’ve ever seen treats this as just a sex thing some people think is hot? But that time when you came and found me, that wasn’t sexual, and idk, I’m just kind of confused._

Bitty sighed. _Can I call you?_

_Sure._

Bitty tapped the call icon and put the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” said Kent.

“Hi, honey,” said Bitty. “It’s complicated, is what it is. D/S doesn’t have to be sexual, though it is a lot of the time, and it doesn’t have to involve sadomasochism, though it does a lot of the time. When I took you down then, with just sensory deprivation and motion restriction, I’ve done that before. I’ve also done sexual dominance. With the same person, even.”

“Jack?”

“Now, I think you know I can’t answer that, hon,” said Bitty.

“Yeah, I guess.” Kent sounded sheepish. “Sorry.” A beat, and then, “Is it hard to find doms who will do it like you did?”

Bitty sighed. “I don’t really spend a lot of time in the community, hon. I want to suggest you go to a club and ask around, but after last time I’m a lil reluctant.”

“I’ll be better about it this time,” Kent promised. “From those links though, it made me wonder. If it was common to like it like that.”

“Platonic and without painplay?” Bitty started to pace. “I dunno, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a little rarer. I think a lot of subs can’t go down without something a little stronger than what I did for you. I don’t even know if you’re one of them or not, you weren’t starting from baseline when I found you.”

“Hm.” There was quiet for a moment, and then, “I think it wouldn’t be that different. From what it was like when you helped me in the locker room.” He sighed. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

“You remember how you felt then, and that makes you think it wouldn’t be hard to go down on restraints and sensory deprivation?” Bitty translated.

“Yes, exactly.” Kent huffed a laugh. “Thanks, Eric.”

“You’re welcome,” said Bitty. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

***

Jack’s luck ran out, and Coach started practicing with Kent on the first line with him again. But it was getting easier. The hypervigilance was less prevalent every time. It came at the cost of some of their chemistry, much to the disappointment of Coach and the other As, but for the first time in his life, Jack was happy to let his hockey be mediocre. He was close to being able to play with Kent like any other teammate, and that was enough.

A couple of weeks later, Kent sidled up to Jack in the locker room before practice.

“Can I talk to you?”

Jack nodded and led him to an empty equipment room. “What’s up?”

Kent looked away and started to pace.

“I know I can’t ask you if you’re Eric’s sub or not. I feel like you probably are because he would have just said you weren’t? But maybe he knows that I’d think that and it really doesn’t mean anything? Fuck, I’m babbling.” He stopped, ran his hands roughly over his face, and started over, both the pacing and the talking.

“It was really good, when he helped me at the club? That sounded like a question, it wasn’t, it was good. And I really want that to happen again. I want it to be him. And Robin says it’s okay to want that, and it’s okay to ask for things I want as long as I’m careful not to put anyone on the spot and stay mindful of everyone else’s position.

“And if you’re his sub, you might not be okay with that, and even if you’re not, you might not be okay with it cause you’re his husband even though I wouldn’t ask for sex stuff. So I thought I’d better ask you first. If it was okay to ask him.”

“Crisse, you really don’t do anything halfway, do you?” said Jack, rubbing at his face with both hands.

“Uh. No.” Kent gave him a half smile.

“Can I have some time to process?”

Kent looked taken aback. “That’s not a no. Yeah, yeah, sure, think about it.” He ducked out of the equipment room, throwing a “Let me know” over his shoulder.

_Crisse de câlice._

Jack wound a hand through his own hair and gave it a sharp tug, took a deep breath, and let it out.

After practice.

***

When he let himself think about it again, showering after practice, he let his initial impressions and images flow over him without judgment, another therapy trick.

_Kent in Bitty’s lap in the club bathroom._

_Kent in Bitty’s lap on their bed._

_Kent on his knees for Bitty._

_Kent and Bitty shut away while Jack watched tape in the living room._

That last one provoked a shudder.

Okay. That was a start.

_Sitting with Bitty while Kent knelt for him._

_Kneeling for Bitty together._

That one didn’t feel so good either. But just being there? That seemed to feel okay.

Safe.

_Bitty showering Kent with praise, as he did Jack._

_Bitty tying Kent’s wrists with their rope._

_Kent sucking Bitty’s dick with tied wrists like Jack did._

Unhelpful, Kent said he didn’t want sexual D/S.

…It wasn’t an unpleasant image, though.

 _Kent sucking_ Jack’s _dick, blindfolded and tied._

Oh hell yes. Jack knew exactly how good that could be. And it was, surprisingly, a much calmer idea than Kent sucking his dick without those things.

He noticed Kent shooting him hopeful looks across the room as they changed and cleared out, but he just mouthed ‘Later’ and went home.

He was quiet throughout dinner, and Bitty clearly noticed, but only sent him a smile that said Jack could talk about it when he was ready.

They had a game the next day, and he hated to leave things lying over a game, but he was certain it would be a worse idea to rush into a conversation like that.

“I need to talk to my therapist about it,” he told Kent in a low voice.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” said Kent, then bit his lip. “I mean. Not like. Just.”

“I’m in therapy for a reason, Parse, I know I need it,” said Jack, letting go of some tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Kent didn’t fight him on it. He smirked a little. “It’s okay to agree that it’s a good idea.”

***

He sent his therapist an email asking if they could move his next appointment up.

“Have you redefined your goals in relation to Kent yet?” asked Thérèse when he saw her.

“Damn. No.”

“The fact that you’re even asking this question tells me your goalposts have shifted,” she pointed out.

“I’m not sure they have, really,” said Jack. “I think they’re still not to let him hurt me. But I think maybe…I think it’s the strategy that’s changed.”

She waited.

“We’ve established that I can’t avoid him anymore,” said Jack, thinking out loud. “So I can’t totally avoid getting hurt by him. That’s how people work. But if I can be in a place where he can’t completely devastate me when he does, that would be good.”

“And do you feel like you’re in that place? Or is that a goal to reach?”

“I think I’m close to it,” said Jack after thinking about it. “He hasn’t lashed out pretty much since he got here.” He rapped his knuckles on the chair arm and Thérèse’s lips twitched. “And that seems to be because of therapy and Bits. Somehow.”

“Is it possible that the interaction you had when he first got here caused him to re-evaluate the way he conceptualizes you?”

“Anything’s _possible,_ ” said Jack, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. This was the one thing he disliked about Thérèse. She didn’t always frame thought experiments in ways that made sense to him.

“All right. What would it mean if he did?”

“Uh.” He thought about it. “Like, he was trying to treat me the way he would when we were kids, and he figured out he can’t do that anymore?”

“So there’s potential for that to be playing into the situation.”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you think that Kent’s therapy and interactions with Bitty moved you to a different place in your interactions with Kent?”

“No,” said Jack, realizing it suddenly. “They moved _him_ to a different place in his interactions with _me._ So he’s in a place where he’s less likely to try to hurt me, meaning he’ll do less damage when he does.” He was quiet for a moment. “So my goals are to have a defense in place if he falls back on old habits and to get better at figuring out how he works so I’ll be better able to predict if that’s likely to happen and I won’t get blindsided.”

Thérèse actually smiled at him properly. “Bravo, Jack. That’s very insightful of you.”

“So how does that factor in to the D/S question?” Jack wondered out loud so she wouldn’t distract him. He thought about it for a minute, and came up with, “I think if he’s subbing for Bitty, he’s more firmly in that place where he’s not going to lash out. Right now, I’m not at the point where I’m ready to be that kind of vulnerable with him, or where my anxiety isn’t going to go haywire if I have to stay outside and imagine what they’re up to. But if those don’t have to factor into that, it could actually be good for our relationship.”

***

He texted Kent that evening, unwilling to wait to share his revelation.

_I want to be there when you do it. But I think we should go for it._

Kent sent him back a jaw-dropped emoji and Jack laughed. Then, foreseeing a potential miscommunication, he said to Bitty across the room, “If you’re interested in domming Kent, I’d be down for that.”

The look on Bitty’s face was so priceless Jack wished fervently that he had his camera. Then he remembered his phone camera and captured it. He texted it to Kent while Bitty was still spluttering. _His face when I told him._

Kent sent back a crying laughing emoji and a thumbs up. _Thx, Zimmboni, that’s amazing_

That was fucking weird, Jack decided, and made a mental note to maybe possibly someday consider letting Kent go back to calling him Zimms.

Or Jack. That would work too. Maybe now they were adults it was time to start using first names of people you were involved in BDSM with.

“ _You cannot just drop that on me and go back to texting, Jack Zimmermann,_ ” said Bitty, laying new emphasis on every word. Jack grinned. It wasn’t often he got to throw Bitty for a loop like that.

“He’s interested. I’m interested. What do you think?”

Bitty simply stared at him, mouth hanging open. Jack couldn’t help his amusement. He could count the number of times he’d seen Bitty struck speechless on one hand.

“Interested in _me domming Kent,_ ” said Bitty after a moment. “As in, acting as his dominant. That is what you’re suggesting.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Mr. Zimmermann,” said Bitty sternly. Jack just grinned at him. “I’ll have to think about it. _Lord._ What am I going to do with you?”

“Make me pies and fuck my mouth?” suggested Jack. Bitty’s mouth dropped open again.

“What in _actual tarnation_ has got into you today?”

Still grinning, Jack dropped his phone on the couch and crossed to the kitchen area to bracket Bitty against the wall and kiss him, slow and sensuous. Bitty nipped his lip in retaliation, but relaxed into it after a moment.

“You want me to get the rope, sweetheart?”

Jack considered. “Nah. Just this is good.”

Bitty gave him a small smile. “You wanna make out like teenagers?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

***

They did make out like teenagers, and eventually progressed to comfortable, chirpy, slow sex. Bitty made a mental note to have more vanilla sex. Good as sceneing was, it did mean he didn’t get to see this side of Jack, who wasn’t a bratty sub.

Kent might be a bratty sub, once he was properly down and safe to explore.

Bitty shook his head as though that would rid it of the thought. Lord, now that Jack had brought it up, he wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it, was he?

And Jack and Kent were on a roadie, starting that morning. And he was at _work._ He made an effort not to take his frustrations out on the dough. Nothing was more irritating than letting his own emotions turn out sub-par baked goods.

Where were Milton and Irving when he needed some inane chatter?

But no, instead it was images of Kent curled up on his lap in the equipment room, and then again at the bar, Kent looking at him with wide eyes as Bitty tugged on his hair.

He was such a good boy when he was down.

Or he has been so far, Bitty reminded himself. Lord only knew what Kent would be like under normal circumstances. He couldn’t think like that.

Almost without thinking about it, Bitty started to draw up a likes/dislikes list in his head.

***

As was his habit, when he took his break, he pulled out his phone. There was a text from Kent waiting.

_it’s okay if you don’t want to_

Bitty sighed, checked his watch, and hit the call button.

“Hello?”

“Would you rather I emailed you a likes/dislikes sheet so you could fill it out in private, or do you want to come over and we’ll work through it together?”

Silence, except for the background noise of the locker room.

“You know,” Bitty continued on his train of thought. “We’re gonna have to talk about it eventually. So I’ll email it to you, and you can work through it at your own speed, and we’ll reconvene at our place when you’re done?”

“Uh. Okay?” said Kent, and Bitty suppressed a giggle. He was really throwing him for a loop.

“Good. Bye, honey.”

“Bye?”

Bitty hung up on him, opened his mail app, and started typing a list.

***

“Your husband is gonna kill me,” said Kent faintly in Jack’s ear.

“Mm?”

“I am going to _expire_ ,” Kent said dramatically. “He says he’s sending me a _list._ ”

“Oh, so he agreed then? Neat,” said Jack.

Kent glared at him. “Why are you so fucking chipper all of a sudden?”

“Who agreed to what?” said Fix-It from behind him.

“Bits is trying to get Parser to commit to a favorite baked good,” Jack improvised. “Parser’s convinced him to make a list to choose from. It’s a whole drama.”

“Mint brownies, dude. Duh.” Fix-It wandered away again. Jack made a mental note to repeat the story to Bitty.

When he looked at Kent again, he was staring.

“What?”

“The Jack I knew could never have pulled that off.” He blinked rapidly. “Fuck, I wouldn’t even have believed it of the Jack I saw in interviews his rookie year.”

Jack shrugged. “Told you I’ve changed.”

“Dunno, dude, I kind of thought you being an awkward wall was a universal constant.”

The words were joking, but Jack couldn’t place the tone or expression.

***

That evening, Jack was reclining on his bed reading a Civil War biography when someone knocked on their door. He glanced at Tater, who was already standing, and Tater opened it.

“Parson,” he said.

“Hi,” said Kent’s voice. “I need to talk to Jack?”

Jack put a bookmark in and was already trying to think of where they could get some privacy when Tater said, “You can have room. I’m go bother Choo-choo.” He made eye contact with Jack as Kent walked in and mouthed ‘Text me’ behind Kent’s back. Jack smiled at him. Tater was a good friend.

Kent shut the door behind Tater and crossed the room to Jack, perching on the end of the bed. He thrust his phone out at Jack, who took it.

It was open to an email from Bitty.

_I curated the list a little since we talked about platonic play without S/M before, but I left a few of the milder things on there just in case, and if you decide you want the sex acts list or the painplay list, just let me know. Also, just because something’s on here, doesn’t mean it’s green-lighted from our end. I haven’t had a whole lot of time to think about it, and Jack and I haven’t talked about it at all, but there isn’t anything on here that’s a hard limit for me._

_Just give it a look over, put down yes/no/maybe/any thoughts you have, and we’ll talk about it after y’all come back._

He clicked on the attachment and glanced over it. Nothing on it really surprised him. Basic sensory deprivation, physical control, verbal control, handjobs (giving and receiving), blowjobs (giving and receiving), scratching, spanking. A couple of artsy things that had probably been leftover when Bitty trimmed down their original list. He handed it back to Kent, who glanced down at it and gulped.

“Yeah? What about it?” Jack asked.

“You’re _okay_ with this?” asked Kent, looking at him and glancing quickly away again. He started picking at Jack’s bedspread.

“Like he said, I’m not committing to everything on that list until I’ve thought about it some more and talked about it with him. But conceptually? Yeah, I think it could be good.”

“He left sex stuff on there,” whispered Kent. “Isn’t that, like, cheating?”

“Pretty sure it’s not cheating if everybody knows and agrees to it,” said Jack. “I didn’t tell him exactly what we talked about. You can put a blanket refusal on sex if you want.”

“He’s _your_ husband,” said Kent.

“Again, not cheating,” said Jack. He frowned. “Do you not want to say no?”

Kent glanced at him and looked away quickly again, eyes big. He said nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” said Kent. “I have no idea what I’m feeling except there’s too fucking much of it.”

Jack felt the need to give him a hug, but memory made him shy away. He may have made peace with some of his Kent-related demons, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still easily imagine Kent lashing out at him for offering. He wished Bitty was there. He pulled out his phone and texted him.

 _Kent’s freaking out, and I’m afraid to help him._ He thought Thérèse would be proud of him for recognizing and labeling the problem so quickly.

Bitty didn’t reply, but Kent’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he jumped so violently he almost fell off the bed. He fumbled and pulled it out, then blinked at the display. He swiped to answer it and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hon.” Bitty’s voice was audible in the quiet room. “What’s up?”

Kent shot Jack a betrayed look and put the phone on speaker. “You gonna pull that, you can damn well do the talking,” he said.

Bitty made a confused noise.

“He says he doesn’t know what’s wrong or what he’s feeling, he just knows there’s too much of it,” Jack reported.

“Oh, hi, honey,” said Bitty. “Would a hug help?”

“Maybe,” said Kent in a quiet voice.

“Okay. If Jack gives you a hug, can you keep from lashing out at him for me?”

“I don’t wanna…”

“Don’t wanna what? Get a hug from Jack or be a burden to him?”

Kent made a choked noise and curled up on himself a little more.

“Cause you aren’t, honey. He’ll be happy to do it, as long as you’ll be good for us.”

“ _I’m not fixed,_ ” said Kent.

“I know, honey. And we’ll work on it. All I’m asking you to promise me is right here, right now, you’ll let us help and you won’t be a dick.”

“Okay,” said Kent, in a kind of gasp. “I promise. Can you stay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll stay.”

Kent looked over at Jack, who opened his arms. Kent crept over slowly, as though he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to have this. Jack drew him close, leaning back, and rested one hand on the back of his head, the way he knew made Bitty feel extra safe. Kent let out a noise somewhere between a surprised gasp and a sob.

“You want me to keep talking?” Bitty asked. Jack looked down at Kent, who nodded against his chest.

“Yes, please,” said Jack, and Bitty began to tell them all about his day at the bakery, segueing into an explanation of bread texture halfway through.

Eventually, Kent shoved at Jack’s arm and clambered off the bed with a muttered, “I got to piss.”

Jack’s phone chimed a second later. He picked it up and looked at it. It was a text from Bitty.

_Better?_

Before he could answer, another one arrived.

_And where’s Tater?_

_I think so, and he gave us the room to talk_ , Jack answered. _He said to text him. If I needed him to rescue me or when it was safe to come back, I’m not sure._

Kent emerged from the bathroom just as Bitty sent, _I have an idea text Tater to come back and switch to FaceTime with me_

Jack picked up Kent’s phone and made the switch. Bitty had the phone propped up in the kitchen while he unloaded the dishwasher and a peppy song played in the background.

“Hi, sweetpea! It’s good to see your face.” Jack grinned involuntarily as he sent the text to Tater. “Doesn’t look like you’re too bruised up, either.”

“Eh, not too bad,” said Jack. “Hockey as usual.”

“It wasn’t so long ago you’d have followed that up with a detailed analysis of every player whether I wanted to hear it or not,” Bitty chirped as Kent flopped back onto the bed. Jack shrugged, unable to contest it.

“I’ll leave you to it?” said Kent, then winced like he hadn’t meant that to sound like a question. “I mean, you have my phone.”

“No need, honey,” said Bitty. “You feelin’ more stable?” Jack handed Kent the phone, and he took it reluctantly, nodding when Bitty could see him. “Good. Now listen, what’s your favorite baked good? We need to back up this charade of Jack’s.”

“The snickerdoodles,” said Kent, laughing a little. “God damn but those were good.”

Tater opened the door, and startled to see Kent still there, smiling at his phone.

“Everything okay?” he asked slowly.

“Is that Tater I hear?” asked Bitty as Jack nodded.

“Hi, Little B! What you listening to?” Tater came around the bed to wave at Bitty over Kent’s shoulder. “Is Nicki!”

“Do you feel a dance party coming on, Alexei Mashkov?” asked Bitty, grinning widely.

“Never say no to dance party,” said Tater gravely. Bitty reached over and did something to the phone, and the music got louder.

 _Get on the floor, floor_  
_Like it’s your last chance_  
_If you want more, more_  
_Then here I am_

“Prop up phone, Parser, it time to dance,” said Tater solemnly. Bemused, Kent stood up and set the phone on the desk. Then he let out a laugh as Tater grabbed his hands and suddenly they were bopping to the beat.

 _Let’s do this one more time_  
_Starships were meant to fly_  
_Hands up, and touch the sky_

Jack laughed to see them flailing away. “Oh, shut up, Zimmermann,” said Kent, grabbing his hand. Bitty was dancing his heart out onscreen, and he laughed to see Jack dragged up, stretching out one hand toward the phone to beckon.

 _All right,_ thought Jack. _For you and Kent._

And he danced with them.

***

The next day, they won their game against Arizona, and the team went out to celebrate. Jack left for the hotel ahead of Tater so he could FaceTime Bitty alone, but when he picked up, Bitty looked worried, chewing on his lip and staring at Jack.

“What’s up, bud?” Jack asked.

Bitty sighed. “It’s probably nothin’, hon. I’m just getting myself all worked up over this thing with Kent. I wish you were home already, it feels like I’m makin’ major changes without any input from you.”

“You wanna go over it now?” Jack offered.

“I really want to do it while cuddling you,” sighed Bitty, “but I think I’d rather go through it now than worry about it until I can do that. You said you were okay with this, but I’d like a little more detail than that, if you’ve got it.”

“Oh, that,” said Jack. “I did some visualization and talked about it with Thérèse. And it makes me anxious to think of not being there in the room, or of being down at the same time, but otherwise I think it could actually be really good for all of us.”

“You called Kent your abuser,” Bitty burst out, and Jack got the impression he’d been sitting on that for a while. He did Bitty the courtesy of thinking about his answer for a moment.

“From what Thérèse says, people who aren’t inherently terrible can show abusive behavior as a self-defense mechanism. And she thinks Kent’s one of them, based on his diagnosis. So maybe it’s not fair to label him that. Or maybe it’s completely fair, but it’s not the whole story, and it can be a word describing how we were in the past. And you seem to like him, and he’s been doing really well at not being a douche, so I’m starting to think it doesn’t have to be our relationship forever. I’m in a better place, and he’s in a better place, and I think this could help him be in an even better place.” It still wasn’t coming out as eloquently as he would like.

“That all made a lot of sense until you got to the last sentence, and now you sound like you’re doing this to help him,” said Bitty. “But I think I need more than, it won’t actively traumatize you. He’s a grown-ass adult, and you don’t owe him a thing. This is way too intimate a thing for you just to be tolerating it. That’s only going to come back to bite us.”

“I’m not,” Jack promised. “I’ll be there. I’ll get to watch.” There was more to it than that, but probing it made a familiar pressure form in his chest. “I think I’m at the limit of how much of this conversation I can have over the phone, though. At least tonight.”

“That’s perfectly all right, sweetpea,” said Bitty at once. “We’ll talk when you get home. Tell me about the game, I know you want to.”

***

Jack had some worries about facing the Aces. Not all about how they would behave, though he still didn’t know how Kent’s no-trade clause had been voided. He’d thought at first that Kent might have asked to be traded, come to take over his life on purpose, but the Aces had made a statement claiming he was in breach of contract.

No, what was worrying him was how it would affect Kent to play against his old team, in his old visitors’ locker room. Players normally didn’t get drafted by a team, play with them for a decade, and then get unceremoniously traded across the country.

His anxiety wasn’t eased at all when Kent took the first opportunity to visit Jeff Troy (number 14, third-line D-man, solid player but nothing special).

“Why?” he asked, too bluntly.

Kent glared at him. “I want to see my best friend. And my cat. Is that all right with you, Captain?”

Jack ignored the barb, too distracted by something else. “Your cat?”

“I left her here,” said Kent. “God, you really don’t follow my social media, do you?”

Jack had known that Parse owned a cat for which he was completely insane. It was kind of impossible to play NHL hockey and not know that. After Parse disappeared, he googled ‘Kent Parson cat’ and immediately found a verified Instagram account.

Up until the start of preseason, the account was about 10% hockey and 90% pictures of two large, fluffy cats with tufted ears. He clicked on a picture of the brown one.

“Ozzy looking handsome in a sunbeam,” read the caption. “I’m starting to think Jeff’s conned me into running an Insta for his cat, too. #catsofinstagram”

“You’ve just noticed that?” read the top comment. Kent had replied to it with the laughing crying emoji.

Slowly, Jack started to piece it together. Kent and Troy had bought their cats together, from the same breeder, and then regularly took them to visit each other. And when Kent had been traded, he’d left his with Troy, so she wouldn’t have to travel or be separated from her brother. After which his Instagram had dwindled to PR-required minimum.

Kent spent most of their free time at Troy’s, so Jack barely saw him off the ice.

At game time, they stepped onto the ice to find the stands full. Rinkside fans held up signs for Kent, saying things like “Welcome back Parson” and “Falconer on the ice, Ace in our hearts,” cheering when he waved at them, in between accepting glove bumps and back slaps from many of the veteran Aces. But the announcers didn’t acknowledge Kent at all, and the lack of the expected tribute became more and more conspicuous as puck drop loomed, and then passed, until a media timeout when someone started chanting, “Par-son, Par-son,” and the chant spread until it filled the stands.

Finally, Kent’s face appeared on the Jumbotron, and the announcer said, much too late, “And, back in Vegas for the first time since his trade to the Falconers, Kent Parson! Drafted first overall in 2009, Parson put Vegas on the map by bringing home the Stanley Cup in his rookie year, not to mention the Calder and the Conn Smythe.”

“Oh, come on, Parser, we love you, but the rest of us helped,” yelled a nearby Ace to amusement from all in hearing distance.

The announcer continued rattling off his stats, and Kent, urged on by Troy, pulled off his bucket and began a slow lap around the ice, waving to the fans and pressing his palm to the glass. The Jumbotron cut to him in what felt like relief, and Jack watched his face.

He was almost certain that was a completely genuine smile.

Then the puck dropped again, and Jack had attention for nothing else.

It was a hard, frustrating game. Kent might have pulled the Aces out of obscurity, but he had by no means been carrying them by the time he left, and they knew his playing style better than anyone, including the Falconers. Every time he went out, the D-men were on him, blocking him from the puck. At one point, Jack overheard Kent complaining, “Man, I thought you loved me, assholes.”

To which the player responded, “We love you enough to kick your ass, Parser,” and poke checked him.

The period ended scoreless.

“We’re switching up the lines,” said Coach with grim-faced determination, and put Kent on Jack’s wing.

Jack realized right around the time he shot the puck at the net that this wasn’t so much because they were good together as much as it was that Coach wanted his best center out on the ice while the opposing D-men were distracted by Parse. This was a good strategy, and it got them more shots on goal than before, but Statham was a brick wall and just kept grabbing them out of the air in increasingly improbable saves.

Penalties picked up, and players from both teams were constantly streaming in and out of the box. Jack got pulled for elbowing, Keds for starting a fight, Tater for continuing a fight, Salty for interference, and it just kept going. Finally, he got a puck in the net, but Aristarkhov answered with an Aces goal within a minute.

The third period narrowed down to individual sensations and moments.

The sleek ice under his skate blades.

The full-body check into the glass that had him nose-to-nose with a Parson sign.

The puck against his stick, flying high into the air.

The bench, a relief in his exhaustion and also a flare-up to his anxiety.

A stick stealing the puck from him.

Spinning around to see a cluster of players around the Falconers’ net.

The goal horn.

 _Shut up and put your money where your mouth is_  
_That’s what you get for waking up in Vegas_

It was six seconds to the end of regulation.

They had lost.

 

The handshake line wasn’t as painful as usual, because he was behind Parse, and ended up watching his interactions with the Aces.

Some of them, mostly the veteran Aces, patted him on the back and told him he’d put up a fight and damn were they glad they’d practiced with him so much, or grinned as he complimented them on skills he must have watched them develop, or even taught them. Jeff Troy said nothing, just grinned at him and received one in return. A couple of the rookies who’d never played with Parse shook his hand in mute, wide-eyed admiration.

But several, an unsettling number in fact, gritted their teeth, or shook hands as quickly as possible without making eye contact, or outright glared at him. Jack heard one whisper, “If I could just tell them all what you are, you wouldn’t have all these fuckin’ signs on our fuckin’ ice.”

“Fuck off, Lungs, I’m ten times the player you’ll ever be,” returned Kent, and moved on.

When they got back to the locker room, Jack didn’t hide away as per his usual MO after a hard loss (and losses against the Aces had always counted until now), but pushed past the anxiety bubbling up in his chest and rested a hand on Kent’s shoulder. When Kent turned toward him with no defensiveness on his face, Jack dared to ask, “You okay?”

“I’m still conditioned to celly to that fucking song,” said Kent, drawing some tired laughter.

Jack waited until they were out of hearing distance before saying quietly, “I mean, the way some of your old teammates treated you. That was…”

“Homophobic as fuck?” Kent suggested in an even lower tone. “Yeah, that still fuckin’ stings. I was expecting it, though.”

“They know?”

Kent looked at him thoughtfully. “Thought management might’ve told the As, at least. They all know, Zimmboni. I came out. That’s what triggered the trade.”

Jack’s heart ached for him. “They claimed you breached your morality clause,” he said, putting the pieces together. Kent nodded. “ _Crisse de fuck de tabarnak_ ,” said Jack, which drew a snort out of Kent.

“I never fucking get over that phrase,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” said Jack helplessly.

“Dude, don’t mope, or I’m gonna get sad all over again,” said Kent, punching him lightly in the bicep. “Sick goal, bee-tee-dubs.” He raised his voice loud enough on that last to be overheard by Fix-It, who started chirping him about saying acronyms out loud. Jack took the hint and dropped it.

***

Bitty stared at the sheets on the screen in front of him. He’d been copying over his and Jack’s answers from the yes/no section of their contract to the bits of the yes/no sheet he’d made for Kent, and it had just occurred to him that being all right with a thing like oral sex _in general_ was an entirely different question to being all right with it _with Kent._ He’d known that on some level when he warned Kent in his email that things being on the list didn’t necessarily mean they were green-lighted, but it hadn’t really sunk in until now that the majority of his list could be wrong.

The door opened and shut, and there was Jack, shower-damp and eyes twinkling.

“Hi, bud,” called Jack. He’d gotten back from the roadie the night before, and had gone straight to bed. And then when Bitty got home from the bakery, he’d been out at the gym.

He dropped the tablet with a “Jack!”, hurtled across the room, and flung himself into his husband’s arms. Jack laughed and caught him easily, kissing him soft and deep.

“You have _got_ to help me with this Parson thing,” Bitty told him.

“Right now?” Jack didn’t put Bitty down, just balanced him on one arm as he opened the fridge and pulled out a Gatorade. Bitty’s dick twitched. Jack carried him back across the room to the couch he’d been ensconced on and sat down with Bitty in his lap. He took the top off the Gatorade and took a sip while Bitty laughed helplessly against his chest. He never got used to this.

“Well, I don’t think I meant right now, but as we’re here,” he said when he got his breath back. “I think I need you to go through the list with regard to what you’re willing for me and Kent to do. I thought we could sit down and talk on the last day of Christmas break, after your parents have left.”

He passed Jack the tablet, and Jack started reading.

“Most of this up top is an obvious green light.” He paused. “You’ve got a couple of my hard limits on here.”

“I don’t know what kind of sub he’s going to be,” said Bitty. “He might need something like that. And that’s where I’m stuck, because if you’re not okay with having that happen at all, then I need to mark it off as a limit.”

Jack dropped a kiss on his forehead, and Bitty realized he was starting to babble.

“Calling that yellow,” said Jack. “I’m willing to try that dynamic, but not right away, let’s get comfortable together first. For all three of them.” He went back to reading. “No reservations about painplay.” He stopped and made eye contact, and Bitty knew he’d gotten to the sex part.

“I don’t know why I even have this on here, when he mentioned platonic when we started talking about it, and that’s just a whole other dimension to add to _our_ dynamic, but now that it’s on there, I didn’t want to take it off without talking to you first.”

“I think you should leave it,” said Jack. “I was talking to him about that when I texted you to rescue us a couple days ago, and I think he only said that because he didn’t think we’d be willing. And if you put it on in the first place, I take it you’re not repulsed by the idea of sleeping with him?”

Bitty blinked. “Well. No. Not repulsed. I hadn’t actually thought about it any more past whether it would be a limit for you. I know you know this, but I need to say it. If you don’t want to share me with Kent, then it doesn’t happen, period.”

Jack stroked his cheek gently.

“I thought about it, when I was doing my visualization. You and Kent. Me and Kent, even.”

Bitty suddenly had a semi.

“Yeah?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “Tell me.”

Jack’s voice got low and gravelly. “On his knees, wrists bound, sucking your dick while you held him there.” He palmed Bitty through his shorts and smiled. “You like that idea.”

“Yes,” breathed Bitty, not even caring that he was being chirped.

“And when he finished you off, maybe you’d make him come suck _my_ dick before he could get off. Would you like that, loaning one of your subs to pleasure the other?”

“Take me to bed,” Bitty whispered, and Jack picked him up and swept him away.

***

“All right.” Bitty clapped his hands together and Kent giggled. “ _Yes,_ Mr. Parson?”

“You just look more like you’re calling a meeting together than anything else. ‘I officially open the first meeting of the Council of Kink. Let us all state the pledge.’”

Bitty laughed despite his nerves. “Safe, Sane, and Consensual,” he and Jack said together. Kent blinked at them.

“That would be the pledge, if there was one,” Bitty explained. Kent made an ‘oh’ face. “All right, everyone should have a copy of all three lists. Mine, of course, is meant to be taken as me giving those things rather than receiving. I notice you have almost all the restrictions marked down as ‘yes’, and all of the pampering as ‘maybe’. So I’m gathering from that you’re not looking for a service top so much as you are somebody to set you rules.” Kent shivered a little, then nodded. “I also notice that you don’t have anything marked down as a limit. Now, ordinarily, that would be a major red flag, but in this case I’m willing to entertain the idea that I already ruled out your limits when I made the list without much pain or sex in it. So for my peace of mind, can you tell me some things you’re _not_ willing to do?”

Kent nodded again. “Anything that causes, like, a lot of pain. Whipping and shit. Blood and piss.” He made a face. “I’m not calling anyone Daddy.”

“I didn’t even think to put down terms of address. I guess that’s not usually in this part of the contract, is it?” said Bitty. “If you want to call me Sir, I wouldn’t say no, but I’m certainly not attached to it. Jack doesn’t call me anything special.”

Kent nodded, but made no comment.

“I can type this part up, if you want?” broke in Jack. “Then you two can focus on the conversation and review what I’ve got later.”

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” said Bitty.

“All right. I’m putting all those down as hard limits, then.”

“Thank you, hon. All right, I think the next thing we should do is divide the list into things we both have marked as ‘yes’, things we both have marked as ‘maybe’, and things that only one of us marked ‘yes’.” He paused, but Kent made no objection.

“I think all of the first category are under submission or restrictions…ah, except for kissing,” said Jack. “And, Kenny? You’re going to need to contribute to the conversation some if Bits is going to be comfortable doing any of this. Enthusiastic consent only, you know?”

Kent flushed and looked at his knees. “I just can’t really believe we’re actually having this conversation,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You run a much better chance of not ruining it if you speak up honestly, hon,” said Bitty. “A noncompatibility is a noncompatibility. But not trusting each other to only agree to things they want to do, that’s a deal-breaker. You’re allowed to change your mind, too. If you have something marked here you think you’ve changed your mind about, just say so.”

Kent nodded, though he still looked embarrassed, and examined the lists more carefully. “I’m still good with everything we both marked ‘yes’,” he said. “So we put those under…what?”

“I call it the hard yes list,” said Jack. “I have nothing to add about any of those, either. I also have them all marked ‘yes’, except for manhandling.” Bitty snorted, imagining trying to manhandle his giant husband, and Jack smirked back at him. Kent looked down at his list, and also started snickering.

“Unknown? That’s what you’ve marked it as?”

“You’re literally the tallest person I’ve ever dated, and you fit in my lap, Kent,” said Jack, but he was grinning. “So I’ve got hard yes on following orders, kneeling, performing small tasks, pet names, hands and feet bound with words, ropes, cuffs, or hands, shibari, gags, blindfolds, manhandling, and kissing.”

“Right,” said Kent, who was still red but appeared to be powering through. “What about the middle group?”

“I think we should go through those ones in a little more detail,” said Bitty, staring down at the list. “For example, I have massages and human furniture both marked as a ‘yes’, but I’m definitely more enthusiastic about massages. Some lists rate these things one to five to differentiate there, but I didn’t put that in.”

“I’m never going to be able to categorize it if you do it like that,” said Jack. “What would you do, give each one a combined score from two to ten?”

“No, I don’t think we need to go that in depth,” said Bitty slowly. “What if we picked out our favorites from that list?”

“All of these are things you said yes to and I said maybe, except restriction of eye contact,” said Kent. “And I have a lot of things marked maybe.” His eyes darted away, but Bitty caught it.

“And that’s fine, sweetheart, you’re new to this, it makes sense you wouldn’t be sure what you’d like yet. I’ve never tried restriction of eye contact, and I might not like it, but it wouldn’t be a big deal to try out. If I decide I don’t like it, I’ll just call red. That’s not exactly safewording,” he explained to Kent, “it’s more of a soft ‘no, this isn’t working’, and we drop that aspect and keep going as we were.”

“Does,” started Kent, but cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“You can ask,” Bitty reminded him. “We need to be open with each other, remember?”

“I was gonna ask if it goes both ways,” said Kent, glaring at his feet. “But it’s a dumb question, of course it goes both ways. You wouldn’t decide you’re allowed to tap out and I’m not. Right?” He met Bitty’s eyes, daring him to disagree.

“You’re absolutely right,” Bitty said. “I wouldn’t. So let’s put restricted eye contact on the list of things to maybe try out in the future. For further negotiation. How about the rest of these?”

“You said you like massages,” said Kent. “Anything else?”

“Hm.” Bitty studied the list. “Breathplay? I like it really light, not keeping my sub from getting air, just letting him feel the weight of my hand. I have a feeling you’d like it.”

“Okay.” Kent nodded. “I’m down to try that.”

“And praise, that’s kind of more complicated. I don’t think I could agree to never praise you ever, but there’s what we call a praise kink, and then there’re subs who prefer to have the scene itself be harsher, and bring the praise in at the end, leading into aftercare. You have maybes in both the punishment-related and the pampering line items, though, so I’m not really sure where you’re leaning.”

“I’m not, either,” said Kent.

“All right. Then we just keep open communication about it, how’s that sound?”

“I like that as a title for the section,” said Jack, startling them both. “You’re getting a little more complicated than my contract with Bits. Open communication, items: praise, breathplay, restriction of eye contact, and massage.”

“I feel like we can write off the sex and painplay into a further-off category, what do you think?”

“I don’t really get why sex is on there at all!” exclaimed Kent, appearing to surprise himself with the outburst. “Why would you be okay with that?”

“We went over this on the roadie,” said Jack.

“And I’m still not wrapping my brain around it,” said Kent. “I said I wouldn’t ask for sex stuff originally because it never occurred to me you wouldn’t see that as way over the line.”

Bitty nodded; that was basically what Jack had said.

“We’re interested, hon,” he said softly. “Both of us. But you have that whole section marked with maybes, so I think it would be better for us to get used to each other in a non-sexual context first, and bring those things in later.”

“I could be down for putting them in the open communication section,” mumbled Kent.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Jack. “Sex and pain aren’t the kind of thing you want to make a decision on without a clear head. And subspace is anything but a clear head. I’m putting it in Renegotiation, eh?”

“Good point,” said Bitty. “And we can put the things we both marked ‘maybe’ in that section too, how’s that?”

Kent nodded. “Can I look at it?” Jack finished typing and passed the laptop over. Kent read carefully.

“Do body paint and lingerie and shit really fall in the same category as pain and sex?” he asked after a minute. “Like, if open communication is just stuff that might come up and we’ll keep checking in as we try them, those don’t really go there. But that’s cause, like, they’re scenarios themselves, right? Things you gotta plan for, not spontaneous. Not because they’re heavy shit.”

“No, you’re right,” said Bitty. “What about a section for scenarios, or something? I can’t think of a good word for it. But things that don’t require _renegotiation_ , as such, just _planning._ ”

Kent typed for a minute. “Can we put hand feeding, human furniture, and ‘naked while partner is clothed’ in the open communication section?” he asked. “I’m not, like, super hesitant about those, just not sure if I’ll like them, y’know? And you have them marked as yes, and they don’t need planning.”

“Sounds good to me, sugar,” said Bitty. Kent typed a little more, then handed the laptop back to Jack.

“We talked a little about forms of address already,” said Jack, frowning at it. “Anyone feel the need to write that in?” Kent and Bitty shook their heads. “All right, and then safewords.”

“We use standard traffic lights,” said Bitty. “Green for all good, yellow for slow down, red for no, stop and we also have Juliet for drop everything and end the scene.”

“Why Juliet?” asked Kent curiously. Jack and Bitty shared a look and giggled.

“Now see, when we came up with that, we didn’t anticipate having to explain our reasoning to anybody,” said Bitty.

“We were brainstorming words, and I asked Bits, what’s something that’ll never come up in the bedroom?”

“And I said, women,” said Bitty, breaking into fresh laughter. “Jack’s bi, but I’m gay as a choirboy.”

“So we picked the most famous romantic example of a woman there is,” said Jack, and now Kent was laughing too.

“Nerds,” he said, grinning at them.

“Anyway, you can pick your own safeword if you want, and we’ll add it to the safewords section. Or you can stick with our excellent selection,” finished Bitty.

“Sounds good to me,” said Kent. “What’s next?”

“Anyone can safeword at any time, for any reason,” put in Jack. “That’s important.” At the nods he got, he continued, “Protection is next. We’re fluid-bonded, but between you and us, condoms until clean tests come back all round? And then come back to it?” There was no objection, and he typed for a moment. “And aftercare. But you don’t really know what kind of aftercare you need yet. Bits needs to cuddle his sub for awhile. Most subs need to get cuddled.” He shrugged. “Same as we’ve got in ours? Cuddle until everyone’s satisfied?” More nods. “And then revision schedule. How long do you want before we look it over again?”

“I have no idea,” said Kent. “A month? What’s normal?”

“Depends entirely on how often you play,” pointed out Jack.

“Can we just say, like, five scenes, then?” asked Kent. “Then if that takes us two weeks or six months to get through, we’ve still learned a fair amount.”

“That should be everything, then,” said Bitty as Jack added it.

The tension in the air shifted palpably. Kent looked suddenly frozen on his seat. Bitty’s mouth was dry, and he _wanted._

“Do you want to kneel for me, hon?” he rasped.

“ _Yes,_ ” said Kent, and then he was moving. He crossed the floor in two strides and collapsed on the floor, kicking off his shoes to sit more comfortably, and Bitty wound his hand through the blonde cowlicks, pulling Kent’s head to rest on his own knee.

“ _Oh,_ ” said Jack.

“You look good there, sweetheart,” Bitty told his new sub. Kent let out a long, satisfied sigh and leaned into the hold. “Yes, you do. All pliant and sweet and all mine.” Kent made a sound that could have been a moan or could have been a sub-drunk noise of shock. What he needed, Bitty thought, was a job. “Jack, honey, could you get me the scarf on the needles?” Jack was up and back in a second, carrying the blue yarn scarf still cast on to the knitting needles that Bitty had abandoned several months ago and stashed in the linen closet. Bitty took it from him, and handed the ball of yarn to Kent.

“Mm?” said Kent.

“I’m gonna knit this scarf,” Bitty told him, “And you’re gonna unwind the ball of yarn for me as I go, mmkay?”

Kent made a small pleased noise.

“Do you want to put something on TV?” Bitty asked Jack, who nodded and reached for the remote. Bitty let go of Kent’s hair to pick up the needles, and forced himself to remember how to do it. Jack put on NHL Network on mute until Bitty glared at him and he changed it to a baseball game. Kent shifted uneasily.

“You gotta speak up if you want something, sugar,” Bitty told him.

“More?” asked Kent softly. “Please? Your hand…”

“I need ‘em both to knit,” Bitty said. “How ‘bout this. Bring me a bandanna, Jack sweetie?” Jack obliged, and Bitty set the knitting down for a moment to tie the cloth neatly over Kent’s eyes. Kent sighed happily and resettled his head on Bitty’s knee.

They sat like that for a long time, Jack and Bitty watching muted television, Bitty making more progress on the scarf than he had in six months, and Kent drifting happily at their feet, unwinding the ball every time the free end came close to taut.

Eventually, Bitty got bored and took the ball of yarn back from Kent, winding it up and setting the whole thing down on the side table.

“How’re you doing, honey?” he murmured, stroking Kent’s hair. Kent hummed happily. “Still down deep, huh? Come here.”

With gentle touches, Bitty guided a docile, helpless Kent between his knees and tipped his chin up enough to lean down and kiss him chastely on the lips. When he pulled back, Kent smiled at him with the loose, uninhibited smile of a sub flying high.

When Bitty glanced over at him, Jack was watching with a small smile on his face, relaxed against the back of the sofa. He caught Bitty’s eyes and his smile grew. “You look good together,” he said quietly.

Bitty smiled back, relieved. For all of his conversation with Jack, he’d still been worried his husband would find some reserve of jealousy when it actually came down to it. He pulled the blindfold off of Kent, who blinked hazily up at him. Bitty patted the couch next to himself, and helped Kent climb up and drape halfway into his lap.

“Tell me how you feel,” he directed. It had the double effect of helping bring a sub up and giving Bitty valuable feedback.

“Haaazy,” said Kent. Bitty laughed a little.

“What else?”

“Floaty. _Good._ ”

“That’s good. Keep going, hon.”

“’S like I’m…” Kent waved a hand at his own sternum. “Like I exist right here. Deep inside. Sometimes I feel like I’m outside my body? And this is like the opposite.”

“That’s real good, honey,” said Bitty. Jack tossed him a throw blanket from the back of the couch and he wrapped it around Kent.

“Ooh,” said Kent. There was lucidity in his eyes now.

“You thirsty, sweetheart?” Bitty asked him. “Need protein?”

“Nah,” said Kent. “How long until this is too weird?” He indicated their state of curled-up. “Cause I could stay here all day, but I don’t wanna overstay my welcome.”

“Try not to frame it like that,” said Jack. “If you think about it in terms of how much of your allotted aftercare time is up, you’re not going to get anything out of it. Bits will be happy to stay with you for an hour if that’s what you need.”

Kent’s mouth opened slightly, like he had never thought of cuddling for an hour before. He probably hadn’t, Bitty reminded himself. Even touchy-feely hockey players didn’t lie around in cuddle puddles.

They didn’t end up cuddling for an hour. Jack ordered pizza and they sat around the kitchen island, having a surprisingly easy conversation. Kent seemed more centered than usual, and he left with a wave and a smile that reached his eyes.

***

It took them way less time than anyone expected to start having sex.

Kent came over again and Bitty put him on his knees again, but this time he put Kent’s wrists and ankles in cuffs. Without the blindfold, Kent wasn’t as docile, though quite clearly down, and apparently unable to stifle the impulse to keep sneaking looks at Bitty’s dick. Which, to be fair, Bitty supposed, he was at eye level for it. And Lord, but he wanted to tell Kent to suck him off. With his wrists cuffed behind his back, he’d have to do it hands free, and his eyes were so expressive, so hungry, he had bright spots of red on his cheeks, and he kept running his tongue over his lips.

“Lord, you’re pretty,” Bitty told him, a little breathlessly, and Kent let out the tiniest cut-off moan.

Waiting for Kent to come up was torture for a number of reasons. First, his hard-on wasn’t going away and he drew the line at touching himself in the same bed without Kent’s full consent. Second, when he looked over at Jack, he was _also_ flushed, tablet completely abandoned and a noticeable tent in his pants. Finally, when Kent came all the way back up, he took in Bitty’s obvious state of still-aroused and smirked at him. Then he spotted Jack, and his smirk became a full, wicked grin.

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asked.

“Would it be a better idea to have sex the vanilla way before trying to do it in a state of, while in subspace?” asked Jack. “Or would it blur the lines too much?”

“Lord, I do _not_ care,” said Bitty, covering his flaming face in both hands.

“Wait, are you two saying sex is on the table right now?” said Kent. “Like, me and Eric with Jack watching?”

“Or. I wouldn’t be averse to participating,” said Jack.

“Oh my god,” said Kent. “ _Please._ ”

“Suck me before I _explode,_ ” said Bitty, and Jack already had a lube-free condom for him so it was less than a minute before Kent sank down on him and he _wailed._

Jack groaned, and Bitty opened his eyes to find Jack slicking his own palm, dick already out.

Parse hummed around his dick, and Bitty came within ten seconds.

When he got his breath back, Parse was snickering.

“I do _not_ want to hear it, I have been hard for an _hour_ ,” said Bitty, and Parse’s snicker turned into a belly laugh.

“Do you want to suck me or should I suck you?” asked Jack between panting breaths and Kent choked.

“Suck Jack,” said Bitty, wresting back a fiber of dignity, and Jack had a condom on his dick in seconds.

Kent’s eyes were so wide as he crawled over and took Jack into his mouth. Bitty’s dick twitched valiantly.

“That whole time you were down there, all I could think was how pretty you’d look sucking my dick with your hands cuffed,” he told Parse in a low voice, and Kent moaned. Bitty got his legs under him and moved up to kiss Jack sensually. “Flick your tongue under the head, he likes that,” he informed the man blowing his husband. Jack groaned and Bitty moved down to his neck to bite at his favorite spot.

Jack came with his hands fisted in the blanket and Bitty’s teeth buried in his shoulder. Kent came moments later, having taken his dick out when nobody was looking and brought himself off.

“That’s our job,” said Jack, squinting at him.

“Next time,” said Bitty. “I’ll have him so he can’t touch himself even if he wants to.”

“I will hold you to that,” said Parse.

(Bitty kept his promise.)

***

They weren’t even having sex when it went wrong.

It had been a hard game for Kent, who’d been on the ice more than usual. On top of which, the Falcs were having something of a losing streak, if three games could be called a streak, and Kent seemed determined to carry the entire team by himself until such point as they could pull their own weight again. Bitty had undressed him, tied him to the bed, blindfolded him, and given him an intense massage until Kent was boneless on the mattress. Jack sat by his head, watching tape on his tablet, petting Kent’s hair absentmindedly and stealing kisses when Bitty was close enough. Bitty and Kent both had a semi by the end of it, but Bitty had just tugged a naked Kent into his lap and stroked his hair until a little energy seemed to return to him.

He pulled the blindfold off of Kent, who blinked hazily up at him and said, “You’re _everything_.”

There was a second where everything seemed to continue as normal. Kent smiling dopily, Bitty smiling back. And then the words landed and a cold rock materialized just above Bitty’s stomach while Kent’s eyes grew wide, and Bitty could _see_ him dropping hard out of subspace.

Kent said nothing at all, although his lips formed the word _Fuck_. And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him, his clothes still tossed carelessly on the floor.

Almost entirely without thinking about it, Bitty moved across the bed to cling to Jack. Tremors threatened his body, but Jack held tightly to him and they never surfaced.

“He’s going to drop,” said Bitty, and his voice came out flat and expressionless.

Jack squeezed him and said, “How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know,” said Bitty. “Not if he won’t let me near him. I don’t know how to help him.”

“Is there someone we can call?” They sat in silence for a second, as Bitty racked his brains, realizing with a distant kind of horror that there was no one else on the team that he knew that Kent trusted. No support network. Nothing. Then Jack answered his own question. “What about Jeff Troy?”

“From the Aces? He’s on the other side of the country,” said Bitty.

A beat, and then, “Do you have any better ideas?” asked Jack. Bitty shook his head mutely.

“How do we even get in touch with him?” he asked.

“He wasn’t drafted by the Aces, was he? Who did he use to play for?” Bitty looked at him sharply, and then he laughed.

“There’s an easier way,” he said. “I’ll DM him on Twitter.”

They ended up using Jack’s account to DM Jeff, because Jack figured he was far more likely to respond to another player than he was to a random message from somebody who could be a crazed fan.

It was short and sweet. _Hey, you and Kent are close, right? I need to talk to you right away._ And then his phone number.

“What on earth am I going to say to him?” Bitty fretted, pacing the room. “’Hi, I’m Kent’s dominant. The BDSM kind. And he’s going into subdrop, not that you’d know what that is.’”

“No, look,” said Jack. “If they’re close, there’s no way Troy doesn’t know Kent’s neurodivergent.”

“Yes,” said Bitty, “but what…?”

The phone rang. “That was quick,” said Jack.

“He must get notifications from Twitter,” said Bitty. Jack answered the phone.

“Hello?” A pause. Bitty could hear a man on the other end, but not make out any of the words. “It’s just, Kent ran out of here pretty quick, and I don’t think he’s in a good headspace at all, and I’m not sure what to do.” More talking from the other end. “He was curled up with us while we watched tape,” Jack said. “He and my husband have gotten pretty close recently, so he had his head in Eric’s lap, and Eric was petting Kent’s hair, right? And Kent said, ‘you’re everything,’ and then he looked like he didn’t mean to say that, like it just slipped out, and he got all panicked, and ran. Left his coat behind. And we’re not sure if we should go after him, if that would make it worse? But, like, I have anxiety. I know the start of a spiral of some kind when I see one.” This time, Bitty could clearly hear the ‘ _Fuck._ ’ on the other end of the phone. Jack listened for a moment more, then said, “Yeah, all right. Let me know,” and hung up the phone.

“That,” said Bitty, “was _smooth, Lord_. I don’t know how you come up with these things. Every word of that was true and you made it all sound like there wasn’t a huge chunk of information missing.”

Jack shrugged. “He’s going to call Kent, and then he’ll call me back.”

“So, we sit and wait,” said Bitty.

“Pretty much,” said Jack. Bitty started to pace again.

“No,” said Jack, smiling a little, “We _sit_ and wait. C’mere.” He held out his arms.

“You got something against me pacing, Mr. Zimmermann?” said Bitty, but he walked over and let himself be pulled into a hug.

“I’ve got something against you going into domdrop,” said Jack.

“ _Oh,_ ” said Bitty. “I think I’m okay, sugar, but—you’re right.”

“You took real good care of him,” Jack murmured, rubbing Bitty’s back. “It’s not your fault.”

“Oh,” said Bitty again. He hadn’t even realized that part of him worried it was.

“He’s got a mental illness, and you cannot predict all the things it’s going to do,” Jack continued. “Troy will talk to him, and then we’ll talk to him, and we’ll figure out what went wrong, and we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” A long pause, and then, “ _Did_ he leave his coat?”

“What?”

“I told Troy he left his coat because I didn’t want to say he ran out naked, but I don’t know.” He took Bitty by the hand and went back to the living room, where Kent had left his coat draped over the couch.

It wasn’t there. Bitty and Jack heaved identical sighs of relief.

“Well. That’s something,” said Bitty. “He didn’t run out into the cold butt naked.”

“So that’s one lie I told Troy,” Jack pointed out. Bitty attempted to communicate _why are you fixated on this_ with his eyes and Jack looked sheepish.

***

Jack texted Jeff after fifteen minutes, but got no answer. He was starting to wonder what the next course of action ought to be if Jeff just never got back to them when Kent called. Jack picked up immediately.

“Hey, Kenny,” he said.

“Jack.” Kenny’s voice was part wrecked and part relieved. “I’m dropping.”

“I figured, bud,” he said, chest filling with a complicated mix of worry for Kent and overwhelming relief that Kent recognized what was happening to him, and was reaching out. “Do you want us to come help?” His phone buzzed with a text, and he pulled it away from his ear to check. It was Troy.

_He’s freaking out about how close he’s gotten to your husband. Be careful with him or I’ll kill you._

Kent, in the time it took him to read that, had only managed an, “I, um, I, I, uh,” that hurt to listen to.

“Or we can try to help you over the phone,” he offered. “Or if it’s just Bits who’s freaking you out, I can come over alone.”

Kent let out something like a sob. “Really?”

“He won’t be overjoyed,” Jack said, trying to inject levity into his voice. “But he’ll be okay. And neither of us want you to be hurting, especially if we can help.”

“He should hate me,” said Kent. “You both should.”

“Stop,” said Jack gently. “What does your therapist say about that?”

“I—I can’t,” said Kent, and Jack could hear his breathing hitch.

“Okay. Are you at home?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is it okay if I come over? I’d like to.”

A whispered, “Okay.”

“Can you promise not to try to hurt me?”

“I’ll try.”

***

Kent let him in, wrapped tightly in a blanket and with a frightened expression.

“Are you a switch?” he asked dully.

“No,” said Jack. “But I don’t need to do a scene with you to help you.”

He led Kent over to the couch and sat down on it.

“Do you want me to kneel?” Kent asked.

Jack didn’t get anything out of that, and he rather suspected Kent wouldn’t either, not for Jack.

“Not unless you want to.” He patted the couch beside him and Kent sat down slowly. Jack opened his arms and, tentatively, Kent slipped into his hold.

Jack held him firmly but gently, resting one hand on the back of Kent’s head the way he had during the freakout in the hotel room. Kent made a small snuffling sound. Jack rubbed his back in silence for a moment.

“You did good for Bits,” he murmured eventually. It was something Bitty always assured a sub in drop, either Jack himself or Kent that one time, that they were good, that they were doing well. The syntax grated on his ears now that he was lucid, but Bitty said that ‘good’ was a more useful word for a sub who was down than ‘well’, and he trusted Bitty’s judgment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” whispered Kent, and Jack moved his hand down to rest its weight on the back of Kent’s neck. That did the trick; Kent relaxed into him completely and started to cry, first softly, and eventually with heaving sobs, which unnerved Jack. He hadn’t seen drop work like this before, and he had to wonder how much of this wasn’t drop at all, but whatever freakout had caused Kent to bolt in the first place. He wanted to ask what the matter was, but he didn’t think Kent would be able to talk through the sobs shaking his body.

And then Kent finally did speak, and what he said was, “You should hurt me.”

Ice ran down Jack’s back and arms and throat and his breath caught. He had the sudden impulse to push Kent away, but ignored it.

“Why?” His voice was all wrong.

“I’m the worst,” said Kent. “I need to be hurt.”

“We haven’t talked about that,” was all Jack could think of to say. He pulled out his phone and called Bitty, but there was no answer.

“Are you calling him?” asked Kent, lifting his head at last. Jack nodded. “And he didn’t pick up?” Jack shook his head. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack, taken aback. “Probably in the middle of something he couldn’t put down. He’ll call back in a bit.”

“He’s figured it out,” said Kent to his shoulder. “He’s figured it out and now he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” Jack told him. “I promise.”

“How can you promise that? You’re not him.”

“Because I’ve been married to him for two years. I know him, probably better than anyone. And Bitty is not the kind of person who drops someone he cares about with no warning. I know I can’t promise that I know what he’s feeling right this second, but I absolutely can promise he cares about you, and he hasn’t just dropped you like a sack of potatoes or some shit.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Kent’s head.

“He should,” muttered Kent, and shook.

The phone rang. Jack answered it and put it on speaker.

“Hey, hon,” said Bitty, sounding worried. “I was in the bathroom.” Jack tried to send Kent an I-told-you-so look, but it didn’t work very well because Kent still wasn’t looking at him. “What’s up?”

Jack suddenly remembered why he’d called Bitty in the first place. His gut, though, told him Kent was distracted and to keep him that way.

“See?” he said instead to Kent. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes?” Oops. Bitty didn’t like not being told he was on speaker. He made a mental note to apologize later.

“Kent, honey. Of course I don’t hate you. Or maybe I shouldn’t say ‘of course’, it’s clearly not obvious to you. Why would I hate you, sweetheart?”

Kent let out a small sob and buried his face in Jack’s chest again.

“Can I come over, Kenny?” Bitty’s voice was so soft, so gentle.

“ _I don’t deserve to be comforted,_ ” said Kent.

“How about I decide that, honey,” said Bitty. Kent made a small choking noise. “All right. What I think is that you want me to come over, but you aren’t capable of asking for comfort right now. So I’m going to get into the car and head over unless you tell me ‘Red’ or ‘Juliet’ right now.” He paused, and Kent was silent. “I’m going to hang up the phone, because Lord knows I won’t pay attention to the road if I don’t. I’ll see you real soon, honey.” The line went dead. Jack repositioned them so Kent’s head was tucked neatly under his chin.

“I need you to hurt me,” said Kent in a thin voice. Jack bit back a sigh. Back to square one. He squeezed Kent tightly, hoping the pressure stim would help. Kent shook against him, and new tears eked from his eyes.

“Can you breathe with me, bud?” he asked softly, making his own breathing deep and exaggerated. He could feel Kent making an effort to follow, and whispered, “Great. Just like that.”

***

Bitty kept coming back to _why had Kent bolted?_ He kept replaying the scene in his head. Holding Kent, Kent smiling up at him, telling him _you’re everything_ , and the conclusion he kept arriving at seemed narcissistic as hell but also the only explanation he could think of.

When he arrived at Kent’s, the scene was almost peaceful. Kent was curled up in Jack’s lap, and Jack seemed determined to completely engulf him in a hug. They were breathing in sync, slow and deep and audible, and he might have thought they’d fallen asleep if Kent’s eyes hadn’t blinked open to focus on him. Bitty sat down on the coffee table so he could look directly at Kent. His eyes were red and miserable. Bitty chose his words carefully to minimize anxiety.

“Just so you know, sweetheart,” he started, “I wouldn’t be mad if, hypothetically, you had feelings for me.”

Kent’s face twisted up and he shut his eyes.

“Breathe,” Jack reminded him gently.

“Is that why you think I should hate you?” Bitty asked. “Because that’s all I can think of, honey. And I couldn’t hate you for that.”

“ _You’re my favorite person,_ ” said Kent in a burst that Bitty didn’t think he’d meant to say, and, immediately after, “Yellow,” to Jack, who loosened his hold at once. Kent sat up, though he didn’t slide off of Jack.

“Ohhhhhh,” said Bitty, remembering what he’d read about that. “And what, you’re afraid of hurting me with that?”

“I haven’t,” said Kent, burying his face in his hands, “Not since Jack. And look, look what it did to him. It’s so fucked up.” Jack rubbed his back soothingly and made a disagreeing noise.

“It’s really, really not, honey,” said Bitty. “You know I can’t be your _everything_ , because no one can be an entire world for someone else. But honey?” He kept talking over Kent’s attempt to cut him off. “I think I can handle being your favorite person.”

Kent looked at him through his own fingers in pure shock.

“You’ve been working so hard in therapy,” Bitty reminded him. “We’ll talk if it starts to be too much for me. And you’ll keep working on your skills, on trying to have a bigger support network than me.”

“This is why you want us to punish you?” Jack murmured. He sounded heartbroken. It broke Bitty’s heart, too.

“You feel guilty for feeling that for me?” he asked, and Kent nodded. “And you want the guilt to stop. Well, honey, that’s a thing people do, but you are in no shape to consent to that right now. And.” He stopped, unsure if what he was about to say was the right thing, then forged on ahead. “Am I wrong in thinking that the harshest punishment I could give you would be to ask you to let me forgive you?”

Kent started to cry again and Bitty couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood up and plopped down next to Kent, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m your dom, honey,” he murmured. “Let me tell you what you deserve. Hm?” Kent nodded. “You deserve to be cared about,” Bitty told him, injecting authority into his voice. “You deserve not to hurt.”

Kent flopped down to put his head in Bitty’s lap, still crying a little. “ _Thank you,_ ” he choked out. Bitty petted his hair. Jack stroked his thigh.

They held him until Kent cried himself out and split his jaw in a yawn instead. “Why don’t you let Jack put you in bed,” Bitty told him, “and I’ll get you some water? I’m sure you’ve dehydrated yourself with all that cryin’.” Kent nodded. Jack scooped him up as easily as a damsel in a princess movie and carried him to the bedroom. Bitty found a bottle of water, and Kent drank half of it. He looked at Bitty apprehensively.

“Can we stay?” Bitty asked him, guessing at his question. Kent closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, and finally smiled, just a little.

“Please.”

They sandwiched him in the queen bed and clung tightly together all night.

***

Jack woke up in an unfamiliar bed with one numb arm, a crick in his neck, and a substantial portion of leg hanging off the edge. He sat up and dragged the numb arm out from under—not Bitty. Kent. Bitty was there, though, coat on and petting Kent’s hair. He smiled when he saw Jack.

“I know I should wake him up so he doesn’t panic that I’m not here, but it’s so hard,” he commented.

Jack was seized by a mischievous urge, and he bent over to blow a raspberry on Kent’s stomach, bare where his shirt had ridden up.

“ _What the actual fuck, Zimms,_ ” said Kent, sitting bolt upright and clamping his arms over his stomach without opening his eyes, and Bitty and Jack burst into laughter. Kent opened one eye enough to squint at them. “It’s the middle of the night,” he complained. “Why is everyone awake?”

“I have to go to work, sweetie,” Bitty said, still grinning. “I didn’t want you to wake up without me and assume the worst.”

“You know Jack would have told me,” pointed out Kent.

“Yeah, I know,” said Bitty. “I also know I can save you a few seconds of panic and long minutes of uncertainty if I just tell you now.” He leaned over and kissed Kent sweetly. Not a peck, either, a lingering show of affection.

“You’re not making it easy not to love you,” grumbled Kent when he broke away.

“He’s like that,” said Jack, leaning over to steal a similar kiss, first from Kent, and then from Bitty.

“See you later, boys,” said Bitty, and he headed out.

“We can go back to sleep,” Jack said to Kent. Kent stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I usually sleep in an extra hour after Bits.” He tugged on Kent’s wrist until he acquiesced and lay down for Jack to wrap an arm around his waist and snuggle close.

“Oh, yes, _that_ was the most confusing thing about that interaction, the idea that we aren’t getting up at four in the morning,” Kent muttered, but Jack was already falling back asleep.

***

 _Scene today?_ Bitty texted their group chat one day. Jack’s pulse leaped in anticipation, and he instinctively met Kent’s eyes across the locker room, getting a brilliant smile in response.

 _Sure,_ he sent back. A thumbs up emoji popped up from Kent.

Without discussion, Kent followed Jack to his car after practice, and Jack had to keep reminding himself not to drive twenty miles over the speed limit. When they opened the door, Bitty sat cross-legged on the couch, pretending to read the newspaper. He folded it with a snap and said, without preamble, “I was thinking we could try the body art scene.” Jack nodded his acquiescence.

“Sure,” said Kent. “How do you want me?”

“Naked,” Bitty decided. “Spread out for me.”

“You could blindfold me?” suggested Kent hopefully, already on his way to the bedroom. Jack followed like an eager puppy. “Like an extra layer of submission, because I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That’s an idea, honey,” said Bitty, “but I’ve got something a bit different in mind. Strip, and tell me your safewords,” he added firmly. Jack smirked to see Kent’s eyes glaze slightly, even as he stripped with athletic efficiency. Jack plopped down on the chair that had permanently migrated into the bedroom and took in the view as Kent, on Bitty’s direction, climbed onto the bed and sat up against the headboard. Bitty fetched a marker, climbed up to perch beside him, and uncapped the marker thoughtfully, as though considering what to write. Jack would have bet a significant part of his substantial paycheque that Bitty had known what he was going to write since he sent that text. Jack scooted his chair slightly closer for a better view.

Bitty scrawled _worth it_ across one of Kent’s thighs. Kent gave a tiny gasp.

“Nice, Bits,” said Jack appreciatively. Bitty added _deserves love_ to the other thigh, then _beautiful_ across Kent’s ribs, pressing hard to keep from tickling.

“I’m,” said Kent. “No. I can’t.”

Bitty arched an eyebrow and met Kent’s gaze. “Color?”

Kent’s face screwed up a little, then he whispered, “Green.”

“Good,” soothed Bitty. “You can take it. I know you can.”

He added _sweetheart_ to a tricep, and then went on a tangent of pet names, scattering them over Kent’s limbs and torso.

Jack’s pocket buzzed. And kept buzzing. He tugged it out to see ‘George’ on the screen. “Oh, shit,” he said, suddenly remembering the interview he was supposed to be at. He answered it.

“George, I am so sorry, I’ll be right there.”

“Did something come up?” she asked curiously. “This isn’t really like you.”

 _Well, I was so excited by the idea of watching my husband and my…Kent practice BDSM that I forgot,_ Jack didn’t say. “No, it just completely slipped my mind. I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up and locked eyes with Bitty.

“I forgot I have that interview with OutSports today.”

“Oh, right!” said Bitty. “No, you go!”

Jack got to the door before he realized he was leaving them to do their scene alone. He paused and turned back to look at them. He saw Bitty figure it out and look between him and Kent.

“I can bring him up from here,” Bitty offered. Kent made a disappointed noise.

Jack took a deep breath and carefully catalogued his brain. The idea made a twinge of anxiety appear in his chest, but it was the kind he could push through.

“You should keep going without me,” he said.

Bitty frowned. “Are you sure, sweetpea? That’s part of the contract as one of your needs.”

“Green,” said Jack. It felt like the right decision. “It’s different now. We’re due to renegotiate after this one, anyway. I’ll be okay. Finish the scene.”

“Okay,” said Bitty, taking a deep breath of his own. “Be safe, sweetie.”

“I will,” promised Jack, and turned to leave.

***

“The Council is in session,” pronounced Kent. “Who has amendments to make?” Everyone raised their hands, which made them all giggle.

“You first,” said Bitty.

“All right,” said Kent. “I want to move everything we’ve currently got under open communication and scenarios to the yes list, except lingerie and hand feeding, which I want to put into renegotiations.” Jack tapped at the laptop. “I also want to move the handjob and blowjob lines to the yes list, orgasm denial to scenarios, and biting to open communication.”

“That all?” asked Jack.

“No,” said Kent, and took a deep breath, the expression Bitty had come to think of as ‘I’m allowed to ask for things’ appearing on his face. “I also want to move scratching, face slapping, and nipple pinching to soft limits, and,” another deep breath, “everything else from the renegotiations list to hard limits.”

Bitty felt his entire chest choke up. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, “I am so _proud_ of you.”

Kent blinked hard, like he couldn’t make that reaction make sense. “Uh. Thanks?”

“I was going to ask for those to be moved into soft limits at the least,” Bitty told him. “The more I think about it, the more I don’t think I’ll ever feel good about humiliating you, or making you feel alone. And I’m so glad you recognize how not good those could be for you.”

“To recap,” said Jack, “Yes list: Everything that was on it before, plus praise, breathplay, eye contact restriction, body paint/writing, human furniture, massage, modeling, handjobs, blowjobs, naked while partner is clothed. Open communication: biting. Scenarios: orgasm denial. Renegotiations: lingerie, hand feeding. Soft limits: face slapping, scratching, nipple pinching. Hard limits: medium- to hardcore painplay, bloodplay, watersports, Daddy kink, humiliation, standing in corner, punishment, spanking.”

Kent nodded. “That’s all I got, then,” he said, visibly relaxing into his chair. “Eric?”

“You already made the important changes I was going to ask for,” said Bitty. “Other than that. Well. Opinions on more intense sex?”

“Love it,” said Kent immediately, and then, “And I know you’re gonna want specifics, Jack, so you can write down intercrural and anal, both giving and receiving.”

“Tribadism?” suggested Jack.

“The fuck is that,” said Kent.

“It’s the technical word for rubbing off together.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, great.”

“Rimming?”

Kent made a face. “Soft limit.” Jack typed for a moment, then nodded for Bitty to continue.

“That’s all I’ve got. Jack? Are we tossing out the restriction on you being present?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “and another thing.”

***

Bitty got home from the bakery a little earlier than he’d promised on the day before Valentine’s Day, so he waited on his own front porch and stared at his phone until it ticked over to ten past the hour before he opened the door.

“All right,” he called as he opened it, “what have you two been plotting?” There was no one in the living room, which took up the majority of the house with their open floorplan, but there _was_ a line of, if Bitty wasn’t much mistaken, _rose petals_ leading him to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and dumped his coat on top of them before following the path. He made himself savor it rather than rushing in.

It was worth the wait. More rose petals decorated the bed. There were candles on the dresser, setting a soft glow to the room, and the chair was pulled close to the bed like a shelf, holding condoms, gloves, lube, and the open bottle of massage oil.

Best of all, his two subs were kneeling at the sides of the bed like bookends, dressed only in booty shorts (in Kent’s case, _Bitty’s_ booty shorts) and smiling happily at him.

“What on earth is all this?” he exclaimed.

“You’ve been a service top a lot, lately,” Jack explained. “We figured it was past time you got to dip back into having service subs again. And Kent wanted to say thank you.” Kent blushed.

“You’ve done a lot for me since I joined the Falcs,” he muttered, “especially since the apology. You won’t let me feel guilty about it, but I’m allowed to want to do something nice.”

Bitty was beyond touched. “Well, I’m all yours, apparently,” he said. “Did you have any requests?”

“May we undress you?” asked Jack, and Bitty couldn’t stop his smile if he wanted to.

“You may.”

Jack and Kent took their time removing his clothes, offering support when he had to lift a foot off the ground, and Jack folded them carefully and stacked them off to the side.

“It has been a long damn day,” Bitty informed them, “and my shoulders are killing me. Let’s have that massage you have all set up.” He draped himself across the bed and shut his eyes. Two dips in the bed told him his boys had climbed up beside him, and then there were hands on his shoulders and another set on his hamstrings, and he lost himself for a while in the warm pressure and the feeling of the knots in his back unravelling. Eventually, he rolled back over and demanded, “Somebody kiss me,” with his eyes still closed.

Someone did. It was Jack, licking deep inside his mouth and letting Bitty suck on his tongue. After a minute, Bitty pulled away and reached up to move Jack to his neck. Jack obligingly began to kiss and suck at it, and Bitty groaned appreciatively. “Now Kent,” he said, and blindly beckoned.

This kiss was shyer, sweet, tasting Bitty’s lips and squeaking slightly when Bitty bit one gently, which made Bitty smile too widely to keep kissing.

“Can I suck you off?” asked Kent hoarsely.

“Yes,” said Bitty, and then hands were putting a condom on him, but the next kiss he felt was to his stomach, the next a few inches below the first. He held his breath when Kent finally reached the top of his pubic hair, but the trail of kisses veered sharply to the side and into the inside of his hip. Then they stopped and restarted at his opposite knee, and marched slowly back upwards.

“Cocktease,” he hissed, and he heard Kent snicker. Then, as though they’d choreographed it (and who was Bitty kidding, these were two professional athletes, of course they’d set up a signal rather than risk being uncoordinated) Jack came down on one nipple as Kent finally put his mouth on Bitty’s dick.

Bitty yelped and arched his back, eyes flying open, tangling his fingers in Kent’s hair and tugging. He got a tongue slipped around the head of his cock for his efforts, and Jack reached over and pinched the nipple he wasn’t sucking. Just as his chest started to desensitize, Jack pulled off, and Kent did too.

“I need to get inside somebody, soon,” panted Bitty, and Kent crawled up to Bitty’s side and turned around, presenting his ass and guiding Bitty’s fingers to the hem of his shorts. Bitty peeled them off, and his dick jumped painfully when he saw the plug protruding from between Kent’s cheeks. “You’re all ready for me,” he breathed, and eased it out.

“How about somebody inside you, too, Bits?” asked Jack, holding up the lube. Bitty went a little lightheaded.

“Yes, yes, all right,” he babbled. “I need to clean up, though.” He scrambled off the bed and made for the shower. There occurred the fastest cleaning in the history of anal sex, and his erection was only flagging a little when he returned to find Jack waiting with a glove full of lube and Kent sprawled on his back where Bitty had just been, holding his knees open.

Bitty rolled on a condom, aimed, and slid into Kent with so much ease he let out a groan. Jack slipped a finger into his hole and began to stretch him open as Bitty started moving inside Kent.

“All right,” Bitty gasped after a minute. “It’s enough. Get inside me, Mr. Zimmermann.” Jack took hold of his hip and pressed inside.

Bitty hadn’t really given him enough time, and the stretch burned, but it was so worth it to have Jack’s cock filling him up. Then, slowly, Jack began to thrust, fucking both of them with every move. Bitty braced his hands on the mattress and gave himself over to the feeling of it. Every thrust stretched him open, brushing against his prostate, and drove him deeper into Kent, who was jacking himself and panting. Waves of pleasure rocketed through him from ass to cock, and it didn’t take long for him to come deep inside Kent.

Bitty kept coming for long seconds, shuddering through Jack’s ministrations. He tried to help Kent jack himself off, but found his hands were shaking too much. Kent laughed at him, batted his hand out of the way, and picked up the pace.

“Hold me down?” he panted, and Bitty moved his hands to Kent’s shoulders and rested his weight there.

“No,” said Jack, pulling out, “climb on top of him.” With his help, Bitty moved to sit on Kent’s chest. Kent moaned loudly and Bitty looked over his shoulder to find that Jack had taken his place, putting on a condom with shaking hands and slipping inside Kent as easily as anything.

“You like that, huh, sugar pies?” Bitty said to them when he had enough breath to speak. “You’re mine, you’re both mine, and you’re going to make each other come because I’m telling you to, right _now._ ”

Kent yelled and came over his own fist. Jack groaned and pounded faster, coming only seconds later. Bitty reached for the package of wipes, knowing full well that if they didn’t clean up right that second they never would, and wiped Kent down before tying off his condom and pitching both toward the trash. Jack tied off his own, and then climbed back onto the bed with shaky legs. They dragged themselves into a comfortable puddle of bodies.

“That was amazing,” said Bitty. “Thank you, boys. That was a lovely surprise.” Jack and then Kent reached over and kissed him, then thunked back into the pillows.

“Sleep now,” said Kent, and was snoring in mere seconds. Bitty closed his eyes.

THREE MONTHS LATER

They got knocked out of the playoffs in the conference finals. Bitty was in the WAGs box, and when the buzzer sounded, he slipped out and down to the locker room. He stopped at the door, second-guessing himself. The team wouldn’t want him there, this loss was for them to share amongst themselves without feeling the pressure of an outsider watching. He ended up waiting in an equipment locker nearby, hoping to catch Jack and Kent as they emerged.

He had to wait longer for that, but emerge they finally did.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me, Jack,” Kent was saying.

“Leave me alone,” Jack growled, striding ahead.

“I know you don’t care but you don’t need to be obvious about it—”

“Stop,” said Bitty, calmly and firmly and in his best dom voice. “Come here.” Their mouths snapped shut, and they turned to follow him into the equipment locker. He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping he was making the right call. “Kneel.”

“Yellow,” said Jack at once, and Bitty made eye contact.

“I’m not gonna put you down, sweetheart. I’m just going to center you both a little. You’ll still be able to process this your normal way, just maybe without hurting each other. Does that answer your concerns?”

Jack nodded, locked the door behind them, and folded gracefully to the ground. Kent followed. Bitty stuck a hand in each sub’s hair and held them to him.

“You are enough,” he promised them. “You did enough. And I know you won’t believe me, not entirely, but I want you to hear it anyway. Now, breathe. I know, it’s been a hard couple of weeks, and you’ve been under so much stress that you’re both falling back into old patterns, but you know you’re hurting each other. That’s a thing you can fix for me, right now.”

A few seconds where nothing could be heard but breathing, and Bitty worried that he’d miscalculated. _Have some confidence,_ he told himself. _If you start doubting yourself too, all of us will be a mess._

Then Kent spoke quietly. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you, Zimms. I wasn’t being fair.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you away like that,” Jack responded. “I still care about you, okay? But I really need to be alone.”

“Okay,” whispered Kent. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll give you space and not guilt trip you over it.”

Bitty felt the flood of sweet relief like a hot caramel latte down his throat. “I’m _so_ proud of you both,” he told them. “That was hard, and you were so good. Thank you for doing that. I—” _love you._ “Care about you so much.” He let go of their hair and took their hands to help them both up.

“Thanks, Bits,” Jack told him with the smallest smile. “Sorry you had to save us from ourselves.”

“Everyone needs help sometimes, sugar,” said Bitty, and then, chirping, “I’ll make you wash the dishes for a week if it’ll make you feel better.”

“About the game or the rescue?” said Jack, smile widening fractionally.

“Either. Both. I’ll tell you how good you are for doing it every day if you want.” Jack nodded. “Okay. You go find a loading dock or whatever, sweetheart. Text me if you’re gonna stay out late.” Jack vanished, and Bitty turned his attention to Kent.

“Feel better?”

Kent nodded and smiled shyly. “Can I help Jack with the dishes?” It was said jokingly, but Bitty could hear the undercurrent of real question.

“Sure thing, sugar. You wanna come home with me tonight?”

Kent nodded eagerly, and then blurted, “Can I suck you off?” At Bitty’s startled noise, he babbled, “I’m good at that, I know I am, and I don’t wanna wait for tomorrow, but if there’s something else…”

“That sounds great, sweetheart,” Bitty told him, recovering. “Not here, though. You’re all banged up, I don’t want to leave you on the floor for long. Bed?” Then, feeling naughty, “You can rest in comfort while I feed you my cock.”

Kent leaned in and kissed him quickly. “Let’s go home.”

***

Jack came home to find his husband still sitting up reading, and their boyfriend conked out on the bed beside him. Wait, no. Their lover?

“Have fun?” he asked, taking in their state of dishevelment.

“Hundred percent more sex than I usually get after a playoffs loss,” chirped Bitty. Jack snickered a little. “You seem better than usual, too.”

“I am, I think,” said Jack. “I’m still going to be sad about it for a while, but I’m going to be okay.” He looked at Kent. “I take it he still doesn’t need to be alone after losses,” he said wryly.

“No, he needs to suck cock, apparently,” said Bitty, raising his eyebrows. “Coming to bed?” Jack started to shuck off his suit.

“Are we dating him?” he asked suddenly, nodding at Kent, who was snoring deeply and dead to the world.

“You’re not dating unless you say you are, sugar,” said Bitty. “But I know what you mean. It does seem like we’re doin’ everything but callin’ it that, doesn’t it.”

“Caught myself thinking of him as our boyfriend just now,” Jack admitted. “And really, what would it change, if we called it that? Except it’d probably make him happy, having a label on it that means he’s ours.”

“It would,” Bitty agreed.

“I don’t think it makes a difference what we call it at this point, not to me,” said Jack. “He’s completely tangled up with our life now regardless of what we call it. Though it would be nice to simplify the terms in my own head.”

“I’m not averse to makin’ it official,” Bitty told him. “But something tells me this is not a conversation we should be havin’ right after y’all lost the conference finals. Let’s give it the requisite couple of weeks to stop hurting a bit, yeah? And then we can dive into relationship negotiation again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack said quietly, and crawled into bed to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> *Jeff Troy, holding tightly to his best friend: “Kent. You don’t have to hurt like this. Please. Therapy will help.”  
> Kent, rapidly losing composure: GODDAMMIT WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME, CUT IT OUT WITH THE PUPPY EYES
> 
> I stole the greatest goal song ever from SummerFrost's fake happy, ‘gay as a choirboy’ from the Two Gallants song 'Nothing to You’, the signs in the Aces arena from Marc-Andre Fleury's Penguins tribute, and Bitty's nosy kitchenmates from Catch-22.
> 
> Music:  
> All These Things That I've Done by The Killers  
> Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry  
> Starships by Nicki Minaj


End file.
